Tamriel Tidbits
by Midwinter's-Night-Dream-86
Summary: Vignette Collection. A thread connects many figures in Tamriel, whether great or not has yet to be decided. Featuring reluctant heroes, manic assassins, nosy mages, and a thief who just wants to be seen.
1. Jolinar I

**General Disclaimer for the Entire Story:** ** _I own my characters (which are any unrecognized characters in the story) and I own the concept of several of these vignettes, however, practically everything else belongs to Bethesda._**

 **Summary:** _To be beset upon by one Daedric Prince is one thing, but two? That's another matter entirely._

 **Featured Character:** _Jolinar_

 _~I.~_

There was something almost creepy about it, Jolinar thought as she watched her friend. It hadn't been hard for her to sit back, hidden in the shadows of Candlehearth Hall, stooped over a frothing mug of mead, as her companion tried to get the Breton off her back. No one seemed to notice the Dark Elf, despite her golden hair, and she preferred it that way.

Well, she backtracked, to most the sleazy little man appeared like a random, run of the mill Breton, but she was, after all, a trained wizard and she recognized him for what many did not: a Daedric Lord.

Up next to the hearth, Serana shifted away, looking highly uncomfortable at the disguised Daedra's advances. "I'm sorry," she said, sounding way too nice, even for her and what the situation called for, "but I'm really not interested." Her small nose crinkled at the open bottle of ale her assailant kept waving under her nose.

"Ah, come on, doll! What's wrong with one drink? A free one, too!"

Jolinar chose that moment to intervene. Molag Bal had already raped and condemned Serana to vampirism, so the least she could do was cut in before the Nord found herself unwillingly in bed with a second Daedric Prince.

"Sera," she said, butting in between the two suddenly, much to the Breton's obvious frustration. "We need to be heading out, places to be, yeah?"

"Ah, yes!" Serana agreed quickly, giving Jolinar a look of relief.

As the two girls walked away from the silently fuming Breton, Jolinar leaned in closer to her immortal friend. "Sanguine? Really? You could have just punched him, you know!"

Serana shrugged, "I had it covered."

"Sure!" The Dunmer laughed.


	2. Oromis I

**Summary:** _Immortality is such a novel concept...Except when you're faced with it in a monstrous form._

 **Featured Character:** _Oromis_

 _~II.~_

Any Altmer skilled in the arcane usually expected to live for over a thousand years and beyond that. He had always thought that he would be one of those Elves who prolonged their life for centuries through the use and study of magic, only to discover some great or terrible thing in his final decades, where he'd likely be driven to the grave by his action's consequences.

He had never imagined, or actually wanted, this.

There were texts, old, withered, and convoluted deep within the archives of the Arcane University (and he was sure there were others like them in Alinor) that spoke of apotheosis, mantling, and endeavors. After reading the 36 Lessons, he had forgone any niggling interest he might have once had in that area to stick with the texts on magic and the arts of Destruction and spell craft, things that he could understand.

Yet of all the mer and men and beast folk of the world, it was he, not a Psijic nor a Telvanni nor an Archmage, who found himself here. Him, a student of fire and water...here.

Oromis closed his eyes and braced himself against the onslaught of violent convulsions both magical and physical.

Any moment, no, at this very moment, he was doomed to become a madman, the Madman over all madmen. To face down eternity, not from the eyes of a mortal, but from the eyes of a Daedric Lord.

As Sheogorath took over the Altmer's mind, Oromis screamed.


	3. Jolinar II

**Summary:** _Theft is a tricky hobby to keep, especially for the young._

 **Featured Character:** _Jolinar_

 _~III.~_

He was going to kill her.

If her papa ever found out, she was sure he'd kill her and use a dead thrall spell to resurrect her and do it again.

Then he'd tell her aunt.

If her aunt came back, all the way from Wayrest, just to deal with what she, her niece, had done, she'd be angrier than Papa. Once he'd killed her again, her aunt would incinerate her and use her ashes in her garden to grow snowberries. Just because she knew how much Jolinar detested that particular fruit.

These thoughts fluttered about inside the Dark Elf youth's head as she walked briskly along through the Commons of the mages hostel toward her and her papa's shared apartment. When she got to the door, her hand absently drifted to the bundle hidden beneath the skirt of her robes before she steeled herself and entered. Her father was in a chair near the hearth, engrossed with some correspondence, and with a brief call of greeting, Jolinar was able to slip into her room unhindered.

Once her door was sealed, she pulled the bundle from beneath her skirt and unfolded a set of costly mages robes, the threads of which glittered with the enchantments for better magicka and improved casting in Illusion's college.

"Let the fun begin," she grinned.


	4. Averin I

**Summary:** _They hadn't been as close to her as they once were, but neither had wanted to wake and find her gone._

 **Featured Character:** _Averin "Avarenya"; Rumil and Amroth_

 _~IV.~_

"Have you seen my sister?"

"Has a red haired girl passed this way?"

These and similar questions could be heard across the docks of Firsthold as Rumil and Amroth searched frantically for their sister. They'd been running through the city all morning in search of her after they'd found the note she'd left on the bannister. But after making their way through the manor district and the markets with little luck, they had found themselves at the seaside where ships and vessels made port before heading out into the Empire.

Person after person shook their head, until at last the dock master told them plainly that a girl matching their description had boarded a ship bound for Cyrodiil not long after sunrise.

As the two dejected brothers made their way back toward their villa, Amroth looked worriedly up at Rumil. "Do you think Father and Mother will go after her?"

But Rumil only sighed with a shake of his head. "She refuses to listen them and after the argument last week, we knew she'd do something. No, Roth, they'll wash their hands of her. Avarenya might as well be dead to us."


	5. Jolinar III

**Summary:** _The most beguiling things happen under the moonlight._

 **Featured Character:** _Jolinar_

 _~V.~_

"It's beautiful, isn't it?"

Vilkas started, and turned to find Jolinar Aren standing not that far behind him. Normally he'd be concerned that he hadn't detected her approach, but now that he knew who - what - she was, he didn't feel surprised at all.

Hanging in the dark sky, the form of Masser hovered, emerging from shadow and turning crimson steadily as more and more of its body was exposed. Somewhere behind it, Secunda stood hidden, giving the pale moon the light for the evening.

Jolinar and Vilkas stood together in amiable silence, just watching the eclipse, until suddenly the Dark Elf turned to him.

"I wanted to tell you something," she said, and Vilkas looked at her curiously.

"Yes?" He asked lowly.

And then she had leaned forward and Vilkas felt her lips, so cold in appearance but so very warm on his, caress his mouth tenderly.

But in the next moment she was gone again, silent as shadow, and he was alone once more beneath the crimson moonlight.


	6. Alvivecia I

**Summary:** _The stars hold many secrets, and though few remain who can read their meaning, one still stands under the midnight sky, wandering._

 **Featured Character:** _Alvivecia_

 ** _In Memory of Carrie Fisher_**

 _~VI.~_

Stardust glittered across the sky after the trail of shooting stars. Under their light, Alvivecia quietly sketched out the heavens above. Her fingers stained with charcoal and chalks, she moved them methodically across her canvas, which, among the planets and moons and constellations, showed the stardust trailing through the air.

The faint breeze that had been continuously blowing all evening swirled through her hair, stirring the dark brown tresses and ruffling the thick pages of her sketch book. Silently, she turned away from her stand and peered up at the sparkling skies thoughtfully. Off to the north, the Atronach gleamed strangely bright for the month of Last Seed, and Alvivecia frowned at that.

Pursing her lips, the Dark Elf scanned the rest of the northern sky, only to find the Serpent had progressed from its possession near the Lord to circle the Atronach's feet. It appeared ominous and dark in that area of the sky and Alvivecia wondered if it was some kind of warning.

Gently pulling out another sheet of paper, the Nerevarine peered again at the strange show in the sky and began to draw it out. When the picture was finished a few short hours later, she dated it with a flourish, "3E635, Last Seed 17th."


	7. Artanis I

**Summary:** _Sometimes fire is the only thing that can renew something._

 **Featured Character:** _Artanis_

 ** _Falls after_** **A Dance of Fire and Darkness**

 _~VII.~_

The smell of something burning drew Farkas out of the mead hall, however, the sight he was greeted with almost sent him back inside. Artanis, their resident Wood Elf, stood over a pile of smoldering embers, among which were the tattered remains of her...pajamas?

"What're you doing?" He asked her uncertainty as he came up next to her. The ginger only shrugged, frowning, as she dropped a pair of woolly socks into the fire. "Artanis?"

She looked at him then, and Farkas suddenly realized that something was wrong with her.

"I had a nightmare," she admitted after the socks had blackened like coals. "It was horrible and I couldn't...I had to..." She trailed off, but Farkas thought he understood what she was getting at. He found he could understand Artanis' body language and what she didn't say quite well.

"Was there anything else you wanted to burn?" He asked, offering his services.

The ginger hesitated, then nodded. "My bed sheets," she said softly, looking at him with silent gratitude.

Farkas nodded before entering the mead hall to retrieve Artanis' bundle.


	8. Sercion I

**Summary:** _It is a truth universally acknowledged that some boys just cannot sit still._

 **Featured Character:** _Sercion; Cian_

 _~VIII.~_

"There's something off about her."

"There's something off about everyone with you."

The young Bosmer rolled his eyes at the Breton's words, quite glad that his mentor couldn't see him. Across the green, an Altmer lady was browsing through the open stalls of the markets, placing apples, cabbage, a pumpkin, and an assortment of other produce into a basket on her arm. Sercion frowned at her, because something about her did not sit right with him.

"Do you think-"

"Oh for mother's sake, hush before you give us away!"

Just because Cian was invisible, it didn't make the smack he delivered to the back of Sercion's head hurt any less. Rubbing the back of his head, the young Wood Elf scowled in the direction of the redhead they were watching, wondering why she interested his Blood Father so and why her mere presence felt...wrong.

Absently, he reached around to scratch at the woolly pants Cian had made him wear that morning, only for the Breton to slap his hand.

"Behave!" He hissed as a cart rumbled passed.

Sercion only grumbled in reply; invisible or not, recon sucked.


	9. Leara I

**Summary:** _The sky is dark and full of smoke and all she can do is choke on it._

 **Featured Character:** _Leara_

 _~IX.~_

There was smoke everywhere. Fog as thick as bread batter, but as black as death, filled the air and Leara's lungs.

A dragon.

There was a dragon.

She took a wheezing breath and gagged as the smoke wound its way further into her nostrils and down her throat.

"High Elf!" The sound of someone - the blonde Nord from the carriage? - calling to her barely registered over the pounding of her heart in her ears and the howling of the wind and smoke around her.

Why can't she breathe? Why...

"Easy! Easy!" She heard him say as hands gripped her shoulders and lowered her slowly to the ground where, thank Akatosh, there was less smoke and she could breathe easier.

Leara took a long shuddering breath, then decided that she didn't like dragons at all.


	10. Jolinar IV

**Summary:** _The world had stopped and it wouldn't start again until she knew..._

 **Featured Character:** _Jolinar_

 _~X.~_

Jolinar flew across the hall, away from the Eye and everyone. She had to find him. She had to.

Mirabelle called after her, telling her to wait, to calm down, to stop.

She couldn't stop.

She tore through the doors, which had been blown open by that accursed Eye, and into the college courtyard, hoping and praying that what she found wouldn't-

"Oh Azura, please, no..." She moaned, sinking to her knees next to the prone form of her father. "Papa..."

"Jolinar!" "Miss Aren!" Voices swirled around her, but Jolinar was oblivious to them all.

Her father was dead.

Savos Aren was dead.

And soon, very soon, Ancano would be too.


	11. Oromis II

**Summary:** _The quiet was telling, even though he spoke not a word. The silence was deafening, even though no whisper was heard._

 **Featured Character:** _Oromis; Averin; The Twins_

 _~XI.~_

The house was silent when he unlocked the door, which made him pause for only a moment before he ascended the stairs toward the nursery.

"Avy," he called softly. If she was with the twins and they were asleep, he didn't want to wake them. He listened then, but still he couldn't hear a sound.

Something wrong tickled the back of his mind, but Oromis pressed it down; he didn't want him to break out while he was with Averin and the twins. That'd be disastrous at the least. But as he ascended the stairs, that faint feeling grew hot with terror and Oromis, though quiet, began to panic internally.

When he came to the nursery door, he hesitated, his limbs almost frozen with trepidation; he quickly opened the door and entered before he could decide not to.

Once Oromis stood inside, he wished that he'd never even entered the house at all.

In the large rosewood cradle, the twins were sleeping peacefully up next to each other, unaware of the world around them. Unaware of what lay between them and their horrified uncle.

Averin, on her stomach and with a hand stretched toward the cradle, was surrounded in a pool of her own blood. Her green eyes were forever locked in the direction of her children in glassy desperation.

Oromis didn't even have the strength to scream.


	12. Leara II

**Summary:** _Fear and pain grip a heart like ice, yet in her they took everything else._

 **Featured Character:** _Mareleth "Leara"; Avrose_

 _~XII.~_

The temperature dropped when Avrose entered the hall; her brow creased in worry and she made her way toward her niece's door. The air was near freezing when she reached the handle and she had to shake the knob to get the handle to turn.

She stepped inside and almost instantly frost began to creep along her skin. The entire room was gilded with ice and frost; the furniture was frozen solid with mounds of snow on top and scattered throughout the room.

In the center of the room, she spied her niece, sitting in a circle of snow. In her hands, Mareleth held a flower, blue with ice crystals, and Avrose recognized it immediately as one from her twin sister's rose garden.

Slowly, the Altmer got to her knees beside the girl, despite the cold, and hugged her round the shoulders. Despite her aunt's presence, Mareleth continued to stare at the rose in silence while ice crept from her finger tips and into the air.

"She told me to practice before she left," the younger elf said softly, causing her breath to leave her mouth in wisps.

Avrose squeezed her shoulders slightly. "She wanted you to do more than she did and she felt-"

"It was the last thing she said to me: "Practice, Mareleth, while I'm gone!" and that was it!" She buried her face in her aunt's shoulder, dropping the frosted rose in the process.

Avrose had nothing to say to that, so she only held the Half-elven child as she cried for her mother.


	13. Jolinar V

**Summary:** _Even the greatest or wisest or the most powerful don't see the knife. When they do, it is often too late._

 **Featured Character:** _Jolinar_

 _~XIII.~_

Beyond the shadows where she stood hidden, she could hear Mercer taunting the other Dark Elf, trying to goad her enough into revealing herself. Peaking around the pillar, she was surprised to find Mercer standing closer to her than he'd sounded. He was scowling at the rest of the Inner Sanctum of the tomb.

"Mercer," she whispered, drawing his attention away from his pursuit of Karliah.

The Breton turned toward the sound of her voice in surprise. "What?" he demanded.

"She's not going to come out if you keep calling her a filthy harlot," she told his blankly.

Mercer stared in her direction for a long moment, long enough to make the invisible Dark Elf turn red beneath the spell.

"Jolinar?" He whispered in question.

"Obviously," was the reply that barely left her lips before the thief felt his hand grab her shoulder and yank her toward him. Mercer's breath was warm on her neck and his grip was like iron as he dragged it down to her waist. Jolinar tried to pull away from her friend, only to feel a hot searing object jab its way into her side.

Almost instantly, the effects of the invisibility spell dispersed and she was on her knees, screaming in agony.

Swiftly another pain blossomed, this time in her left shoulder, and she felt her back instantly become stiff. All she could do was scream in frozen silence, not able to even understand Mercer's voice above her.

Soon she was losing consciousness and as the darkness took her, she couldn't help but wonder when Mercer had first betrayed her.


	14. Alvivecia II

**Summary:** _"Who are you?" Not everyone can answer that question, and she was one of them._

 **Featured Character:** _Alvivecia_

 _~XIV.~_

The official glanced up at her with a raised eyebrow before turning back to the papers she'd handed him.

"This doesn't list parents," he stated.

Alvivecia wanted to shift her back, sigh uncomfortably, anything, but her spine remained straight and she stood still, only nodding briefly at the man's statement.

"Or place of birth," he added, musing. "And all it lists for your date of birth is The Ritual." He placed the papers of citizenship on the desk next to her release identification papers. "Normally when the higher ups send us a prisoner for release, we also fill out a special copy of citizenship papers. It helps us keeps tabs on anyone who might be dangerous, you understand," he explained.

"Yes sir," the brunette replied passively.

The official nodded. "You filled these out with Ergalla?"

"I did."

"And he just let you go through with only half of them filled out?"

Alvivecia nodded.

The official shuffled through the papers scattered on his desk, straightening them. "Alvivecia Sithola, charged with seventeen counts of necromancy, desecration of the dead, and grave robbing, is by order of Uriel Septim released to Morrowind, and she doesn't need citizenship papers." He frowned at her. "Who are you?"

"I'm Alvi-"

"No," he cut her off. "Who are you?"

Alvivecia shifted on the balls of her feet and shook her head.

"I don't know."


	15. Nixiel I

**Summary:** _The Ashlands were unforgiving, even to the most cautious of Dunmer._

 **Featured Character:** _Nixiel_

 _~XV.~_

Nixiel Veres screamed, then ducked, then everything before her burst into electric flames.

"Talvas!" She screamed - again. She had been screaming his name since the ash spawn had dragged him beneath the ground. "Talvas!" He was going to suffocate, surely, and she'd never be able to find his body in the sea of ash. "Talvas!" He'd become like them, like the ash spawn, and he'd hate her and she would have to destroy him.

Nixiel sank to her knees in desperation and began to claw at the ground while the dead brush burned and sizzled around her. She continued to scream her companion's name long after her nails were broken and her hands bleeding.

He was dead, she was sure, and not only was it harrowing for her, but Master Neloth would be annoyed beyond measure, she was certain! What was she to do?

At last Nixiel crumpled to the ground and let out a long agonizing wail, which escalated to a shriek when something grabbed her arm.

"Nix-" she let her hand fly, punching her assailant square in the nose, before throwing her arms around his neck.

Talvas Fathryon gingerly hugged the volatile alchemist back.

"Why were you screaming?" He asked, discreetly touching his broken nose with a healing spell.

Nixiel sat back on her heels and scowled at him. "You were bleeding dead, you bloody fetcher!"

"I was?" Talvas' voice was lost as Nixiel hugged him again.


	16. Jolinar VI

**Summary:** _In the absence of heroes, one must face the megalomaniacs alone._

 **Featured Character:** _Jolinar_

 _~XVI.~_

"You are not even Dragonborn," the man in the mask dismissed the Dunmeri mage he'd left sprawled on the grating from their earlier confrontation. "You have no power here compared to the might of Miraak," he sneered, waving his hand over her.

Jolinar and her Ancestral Wrath had barely begun to glow in fiery fury when he banished her out of Oblivion and she landed in the chamber of the temple on Solstheim. With a groan, the Archmage rolled on to her back and squeezed her eyes shut as the fire of her anger petered out around her.

Nearby, Frea was talking and asking questions, but all Jolinar could do was lay on the floor, deep in thought.

This other Dragonborn was insane. An insane and powerful man who wanted to take over Solstheim. When she had first entered Apocrypha and confronted him, it had been easy for him to disarm her and cast her down, a fact that embarrassed Jolinar greatly. The only person who stood a chance against the power hungry Dragon Priest was Leara Ormand, and Azura only knew where the Altmeri Dragonborn had disappeared to. The Last Dragonborn, as she was dubbed by prophecy, had been missing for over a month.

Jolinar paused and opened her eyes, recalling something Miraak had told her.

"Have you come for the Last?" He had asked her. "None know where the Last has been hidden. None save my master, and he has hidden the sky born well."

"Oh by Almalexia's armpits," Jolinar groaned. She had a lot of ground to cover before Miraak gained enough power to enact his takeover.


	17. Averin II

**Summary:** _A lover's longing and a mother's love entwined._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Averin_

 _~XVII.~_

She sat at the base of the statue, remembering.

The taste of his lips was like the ripest of strawberries and the memory of summer and sunshine. She shivered in recalling his touch, which had been almost sinful and the things he did with his hands were things priests should not be able to do. The scent of his hair, at first smoky and dusty from the destruction of his city, reminded her of the fights she'd been in, not in defense, but for money, and of training with fire. Later when he'd bathed in the stream in the middle of the forest, he came back to her smelling of clean water and sun baked stones, which brought up memories of her childhood home and the waterfalls near mountainous Cloudrest. When at last they were safe in the temple, he smelled of parchment and snow and the hearth, reminding her of home and the purest of magics. His eyes were like icy and temperate waters all at once, a crystalized blue deeper than any well with a power that could shake her to the very core with a single look.

But above all she remembered his kiss and the taste of his mouth and his hands on her body and in her hair.

It was sensuous and agonizing and blissful and every detail was burned into her memory like a brand made hot with a fire red and passionate.

Averin ran a hand along the leg of the dragon statue in the temple with a delicate trailing of her fingers, smiling softly at it, though her eyes were sad and her face was touched with melancholy and longing.

Her stomach fluttered and Averin gasped slightly, her smile spreading, before she pressed her hand more fully against the stone leg of the Avatar of Akatosh.

"This is a remanent of our love," she breathed, "and I will be selfish with it."


	18. Sercion II

**Summary:** _Long after she'd passed, he remembered her._

 **Featured Character:** _Sercion; Cian_

 _~XVIII.~_

His hands danced over the numerous wanted posters, bounties, letters, and papers that once belonged to Artemis Nightwalker. Who ever had drawn the image on the poster for the murder of the old Emperor had taken care to add the markings of the Brotherhood, though there was little else that could be gleaned on the actual appearance of the assassin. The only thing that connected each death with the same murderer was the black hand of Sithis pressed against the face and a lavender sprig placed across the bridge of the nose.

He, of course, knew the assassin called Nightwalker. He knew of her and at one time knew her, herself. But he didn't now, which was why he had to make do with her belongings, long ago abandoned in a drafty old manor in the Heljarchen Hills.

A floorboard creaked, yet still he didn't turn around. Instead, he traced a finger over a picture, a likeness, which had ended up in amongst the wanted papers. The way her hair curled at the ends, how her nose was littered with freckles, and many other small things prickled his memory, but those memories were mirrors and reflections of his own face, so he shoved them down.

"You shouldn't be here," Cian's voice came from behind him. "The shadow bird is looking for you."

Sercion let out a bark of laughter, though it didn't seem to phase his Breton mentor. "There is no trail for her to follow to find me here! I wanted a moment's peace."

"You've had a day," Cian replied gruffly. "And you've done what? Nothing! You just stay here rummaging through a dead woman's things!"

Sercion shook his head, the laugh lines still drawn across his face.

"She was my sister," he said at last. "And I want only to remember her."


	19. Artanis II

**Summary:** _What's good for some isn't always good for others._

 **Featured Character:** _Artanis_

 _~XIX.~_

"What do I have to do?"

And when Skjor had answered her and led her into the Underforge, her life had changed forever.

She heard Aela at the door, checking her for the fifth or sixth time that night, but as with all the other times before, Artanis feigned sleep and the Huntress soon returned to her own room down the hall.

The beast blood had tasted so rich, full of spice and iron and heat and power that she'd recklessly gulped it down, never batting an eyelash at the fact that it was true blood she was drinking. Wasn't she a Bosmer? Were they not capable of taking in blood and raw meat as a baby did nurse milk?

The very fact that she was a Wood Elf was the reason her body warred with itself, she was sure. Bosmer by their very nature can change form in mass when in great need, but they aren't meant to and with her acceptance of the wolf and physical change, she has broken the ancient and sacred Pact of her people.

Her body quivered with the need to run and transform, to destroy and devour, but she held herself down by the bedframe, muscles taut with strain. The wolf wanted so badly to be let out, but to transform and then regain human form, her body would tear apart and mend itself together. Her limbs would burn, her skin would shred, and her mind and spirit would scream in searing agony.

Artanis lay that way for the rest of the night.


	20. Phoebus I

**Summary:** _Serenading a woman is one thing; serenading her while drunk is an entirely different matter._

 **Featured Character:** _Phoebus_

 _~XX.~_

He sat down outside her room shortly after lunch and started playing the lute and singing songs of courtly love from High Rock. That had been some ten hours ago and by now, Phoebus Apollus was on his fourth rendition of the Cyrodilic favorite, Lavender Maidens, and he was bone tired. Still, he continued to play because he owed it to her to prove his devotion, blah, blah, blah.

To most his actions would appear creepy, and to any sane person they were, but Phoebus had been drinking on a keg of brandy all afternoon and, well, he'd never been able to hold his liquor well.

"Oh, oh, young lavender maidens, with purple blossoms in yo - hic!" Phoebus moaned, his chest shuddering from the expulsion of whatever from his mouth. He opened his mouth again to keep singing, only for still more hiccups to follow before giving way to a coughing fit. He set aside his lute and began wheezing.

His eyes blurred from the strain on his chest, but he was just able to make out a tan boot appear and nodge the brandy keg into the next room (someone would probably trip on that later) before it and its owner came around and thumped him on the back.

"Better?" Brelyna Maryon asked when Phoebus' coughing fit had subsided.

"Ahem, yeah, thanks. I-" then he realized it was her, and shut up.

Brelyna reluctantly took her hand from the Imperial's back and let it fall to her side. "Phoebus," she began awkwardly.

"Huh?" He said, looking toward the shimmering blue pool in the center of the hall and not at his Dunmer companion.

"I don't blame you," she said, but still he ignored her. Brelyna huffed and changed tactics. "The music was lovely."

"Why didn't you come out sooner, then?" He asked, looking to her at last.

"I only just came in for the fifth verse of Lavender Maidens," she explained. "I was speaking with Archmage Aren, you see. She said you were ready to accompany me on my expeditions."

Phoebus smiled happily at her before closing his eyes and letting out a drunken snore, which Brelyna answered with a giggle.


	21. Leara III

**Summary:** _Sometimes even the most beautiful things have to be seen to be believed._

 **Featured Character:** _Leara "Mareleth"; Erbane_

 _~XXI.~_

The sun blazed overhead, but still she continued on. Ahead of her, her cousin scrambled over the rocks and crags, for more deft at climbing than she could ever hope to be, as he led her up to a stony mound near Wayrest.

"Is it very far now, Erbane?" She asked for the umpteenth time since they'd left her aunt's house.

"Not too much, Lea," he threw the same reply he'd been using over his shoulder.

Mareleth huffed in agitation at his words, especially the "Lea" bit, but she went on in silence after him.

After climbing several more feet, the two young Altmer crested the mound. At the center of the hilltop was a low dwelling made of ancient stone shrouded in moss. Erbane took the elfling's hand and led her around the perimeter of the structure until they came to a dark hole that could only be the doorway. Mareleth frowned at the dark opening.

"Are we to go in through there?" She asked with some trepidation.

"Yes!" Erbane exclaimed, and before Mareleth could protest, her cousin dragged her through the hole and into the unknown darkness.

The inside of the stone structure wasn't as dark as it appeared to be through the opening. Once inside, Mareleth could see a small beam of sunshine coming in from the ceiling, casting light across the cobwebbed walls. Dust danced in the beam of light, disturbed by Erbane clamouring through the room to brush away the largest of the webs. Mareleth paid him little attention; instead she examined the walls of the room in curiosity. "These aren't as old as they look," she exclaimed, looking over the carvings of people and animals. "The style is Nedic but these are obviously-"

"Hush for like five seconds, Lea, and watch!" Erbane interrupted, startling her.

"What," she started, before suddenly the entire room seemed to be filled with light. It wasn't blinding, but it seemed to vanish every shadow, leaving the carvings on the walls in stark relief. The two Altmer looked at each other briefly, then curiosity overtook them and they began to look over the walls. It was only a few minutes before the solstice was to end that Mareleth happened to glance up and see the engraving of a dragon, quite unlike the Imperial sigil, in flight with the light coming in from his only visible eye. The elfling continued to stare at the dragon through the rest of the solstice.


	22. Bellatrix I

**Summary:** _An assassin thinks of home._

 **Featured Character:** _Bellatrix_

 _~XXII.~_

Fire burned in the lantern, but all Bella could see was the burning sun over the too blue waters surrounding the port and the call of the gulls as they swooped over the sea taking the hard sought-after catches of the fishermen. If she concentrated, she could almost hear her mother singing sea shanties, could almost smell the salt and sweat and rum and smoke that permeated through the tavern.

"My heart twas struck by Mara."

The towering peaks of the barren mountains against the white blue sky were the tallest thing for leagues and leagues. Their inhabitants, they said, were nearly as deadly: ogres and trolls and goblins hidden deep beneath the rocks and winds. Bella could almost hear the screeching and grunting of the monsters at night on the fringe of the port.

"I forsook all mortal gold."

The monsters in the mountains weren't the only danger on the island. There were ruins, dwarven, they said, to the north west and few, if any, who delved into their depths ever returned. There were also plants, poisonous and deadly when consumed, that grew in the crags of the mountains. Plants that, when ingested, killed almost instantly.

"There's not that now cajoles me."

But Stros M'Kai wasn't all death and stone, nor was it only sailors and drinking. There was a strange beauty that could only be found in home, and Bella loved it. The sea, the rocks, the people, the tavern where her mother worked and she played were all home to her.

"But my jolly sailor-"

"Bellatrix."

The steely voice of the Speaker shook Bella from her reminiscing. Looking around, she saw not the seas or the ships or skies of Stros M'Kai, but the dark and cold interior of Fort Farragut. Above her pallet towered the form of Lucien Lachance, which also happened to block out the light in which she'd lost herself. She glowered at him, but he'd made his meaning clear: go back to sleep or leave, but stop singing.

Bellatrix Farstern rolled over, but she didn't stop thinking of home.


	23. Artanis III

**Summary:** _A future assassin weeps as her home burns._

 **Featured Character:** _Artanis_

 _~XXIII.~_

It seemed like it was always summer in Leyawiin, different degrees of summer because at the crown of Topal Bay even winter was never cold. It was a city of perpetual warmth and heat and color. Days were spent beneath the golden sun playing in the streets with friends, or, weather permitting, out on the bay boating and fishing. Life was good for the citizens of the Empire's deep south. For Artanis Felagund, it was the only life she'd ever known.

Spring in the garden with her mother, autumn in the woods with her father, summer playing out doors under the neverending blue sky, and winters spent at the windows watching rain mist over the town. That was her life. Her world. Her everything.

And they destroyed it.

They spirited away her father during the night to defend a homeland she never knew. They rose and crashed over Leyawiin like a thundering wave of death and took over everything, blotting out light and love and laughter. They took their freedom and confined her mother to a strenuous position as the chambermaid to a tyrant. The same tyrant who then took her mother and in a cloud of flame and smoke and screams killed them both and burned the city.

They destroyed everything she knew, killed all that she loved, and cast her out into the cold dark of the world to find her own way, even though she was only a child.

Orphaned and homeless, she wept with the rains the fell like tears over the Blackwood.


	24. Jolinar VII

**Summary:** _Her father warned her about the company she should keep; little did they know that that "company" was the rest of her family._

 **Featured Character:** _Jolinar_

 _~XXIV.~_

"If you aren't careful, you'll become just as arrogant as a Telvanni."

Jolinar recalled clearly when her father had said that to her. She'd been working at her Conjuration and had made a habit of using it to take whatever book or manuscript her father had been working on out from under his nose, even if she was in a completely different part of the College. Normally he took it in good humor, but that day he'd seemed particularly on edge and she knew she shouldn't have tested him so, but she had and her father had exploded at her. He'd been very gentle toward her afterward (she had only been 30 and despite her advancement with magic was still little more than an elfling), but still he'd cautioned her on her use of magic, telling her that to use her power so could lead to her getting a big head about it, like the Lords of House Telvanni "who, for example, use the old levitation spells as the only way to enter their towers simply because they can."

Oh if only her father knew that his daughter had been born to that House of egoists and narcissists when he'd adopted her!

"Are you sure we're related?" She ventured to ask Master Neloth, who probably had the largest ego in Tamriel, if not Nirn.

The older Dark Elf looked at her affronted. "Am I sure-? If your mediocre abilities with magic weren't of a higher brand than those not of Telvanni and if the grandiose knowledge of the arcane you have inherited from your forebears weren't answers enough, you should at least be able to tell by your startling resemblance to me!"

Jolinar looked at the mage lord in dismay. Her? Grandiose knowledge? Resemblance to...him?

"But I-"

"Oh don't be arrogant, Erandyl. Just because you were raised by a Hlaalu doesn't mean you need to act like one of those boot lickers," Neloth told her off with a wave of his hand.

The younger Dunmer groaned. If only her father could see her now.


	25. Erbane I

**Summary:** _It was so easy to entertain with fabricated stories, but even they still held a kernel of truth._

 **Featured Character:** _Erbane; Leara_

 _~XXV.~_

Icy blades of greenery crunched under foot as the nut haired Altmer ascended the hill, reciting a story as he walked.

"The Prince of Winter and Woe threw up his shield, bracing himself against the scorching dragon fire."

He had seen her, the Queen of Dragons and Storms with ice spiraling from her hands as she met the fiery breath of the great Dovah in battle.

"All around the young hero, the grass, frozen with dew, smoked and burned under the torrents of flame."

The snow touched plains had begun to steam as the heat from the dragon swept through the air, but just as quickly, the lady's magic froze them over again.

"The Prince struggled against the might of the dragon for a time, until, when he thought his strength would fail, the tide turned and he slew the giant lizard."

The image of her standing before the skeletal remains of the dragon as its soul swirled like an aurora into her chest flashed in Erbane's mind as he continued repeating the words of The Prince Of Winter out loud to the still morning

The grass continued to crunch under his feet, sparkling with the frosted drops of dew that gave name to the present month of Frost Fall.

Far away to the north and east, the Queen of Dragons stood over a world of snow and smoke.


	26. Bellatrix II

**Summary:** _Those who believe a murderer cannot love are wrong._

 **Featured Character:** _Bellatrix_

 _~XXVI.~_

The tang of iron was strong in the air when Bellatrix Farstern stepped into the yard. Her nostrils flared as the blood smell danced through the air and assailed her senses, drawing her toward the nearby house. Someone had died there, quite recently and violently, by the state of things.

Behind her, Shadowmere moved about, obviously ill at ease. Bella glanced at the dark horse with worry before continuing toward the house, the scent of blood growing stronger and stronger the closer she got.

Wasn't this where he had told her to come? A farmhouse north of Rumare?

Vaguely, she wondered if he had spread animal blood or something around the house to draw her to it. Knowing him and his sordid sense of humor, she didn't doubt that he'd take the moniker "Bloody Bella" that literally.

She was unable to suppress a dry chuckle as she pushed the door to the farmhouse open and stepped inside. With every step the stench grew stronger, thicker as if it had been spread in torrents around the house. If he was sitting inside surrounded by buckets of blood, she was going to-

Bellatrix halted immediately upon entering the large room and any thoughts of what she'd do to the Speaker flew from her head as the sight before her registered in her mind.

Strung up by the ankles was the maimed and bloody body of Lucien Lachance, torn apart as if set upon by a rabid animal that had gotten bored halfway through its ministrations. But the cuts were too precise and the prints in the red stains on the floors were made from boots, not paws, and no animal no matter how strong could string up a body like that.

They had found him and killed him and, and...

Bellatrix wailed.


	27. Artanis IV

**Summary:** _For as long as there is a moon, people, good and bad, well and ill, will fall under her thrall. Woe to them who fall under thrall of two._

 **Featured Character:** _Artanis_

 _~XXVII.~_

The moons' light glittered across the landscape, its beams playing in the tundra grass and the rocks that dotted the plains. On one rock sat a ginger Wood Elf, her leather clad legs drawn up to her chest. She hugged them to her as she stared at the twin spheres, unable to look away even as her limbs quivered and strained against her, begging to be released, to change.

She'd come so far, she tried to console herself. She had faced members of the Hand even when parts of her begged to shift and devour them or to throw herself upon their silver weapons and give way to death. To die would have only been a temporary release, she chided herself repeatedly, because her fate then had been in the Hunting Grounds. Even now she feared Hircine's wrath, protected as she was by her Dread Father.

In the distance a wolf yowled and the Bosmer gasped, the vice grip she had around her legs loosening painfully, and she slid off the rock.

She could feel it, raging, screaming in her chest, ready to burst forth in a storm of teeth and blood and fur and anger.

"Artanis."

The voice of her spectral companion tore Artanis Felagund from her madness and she realized with a jolt that she'd been on the verge of giving in to the Beast.

Choking back a sob, she ignored the unusually concerned look on the spectre's face as her eyes drifted once more to the moons.


	28. Sercion III

**Summary:** _When one vampire seeks another out, it usually spells trouble for the second vampire._

 **Featured Character:** _Sercion; Cian_

 _~XXVIII.~_

"The Princess is here."

Sercion wanted to ask "what princess?" but restrained himself as Cian left the doorway and a dark haired Nord entered. She was pretty, he thought, with braided black hair and clear skin, but her eyes were red, almost like the Bird's, and he knew what she was instantly. The smell of it rolled off of her in ways only a fellow night walker could detect.

His own golden eyes narrowed. "Has your Prince sent you, then?"

"Did your Mother send you here?" She countered, crossing her arms.

Sercion closed his mouth. The Blood Matron had not sent him, in fact he hadn't seen her for many years. With that thought he knew that this Daughter of Coldharbour had come of her own volition. The question was, then, what did she want?

He asked her as much.

"It isn't what I want," she explained, putting her hands on the desk that had been his sister's and leaning toward him. "You're following her."

Sercion schooled his features and gave the Daughter of Coldharbour a cool look. "I haven't a clue what you're talking about."

Instead of replying, the Nordic vampire stood to her full height and stared down at the Bosmer coldly. Despite himself, Sercion shivered. "You've been caught, Scion, and I don't take kindly to her ilk in my territory."

His eyes hardened. "A single Volkihar cannot have all of Skyrim as her playground," he retorted.

Her lips thinned. "Try me."


	29. Jolinar VIII

**Summary:** _In the middle of a raging storm, she has unexpected company._

 **Featured Character:** _Jolinar_

 _~XXIX.~_

Jolinar flipped a page in her book and adjusted it under the wavering candlelight. Outside a gale raged across Riften, sent down from the Velothi and Jerall Mountains to drown the city already built precariously on the water. She could hear her brother playing his flute, but even that seemed to be muffled compared to the rapid beats of thunder.

The candle flickered and went out, and Jolinar, having already expected that, sat back with a sigh.

"Jolinar."

However, she hadn't been expecting that. The Dark Elf whirled around in her chair, but she could see nothing by the dim light from the window.

"Jolinar."

Was that...? "Papa?" She called. She was going mad.

"Why did you go there?" The voice of Savos Aren echoed throughout the room.

"Where...?"

"Telvanni." Suddenly Jolinar felt colder, colder than she recalled ever feeling, as her father's mournful voice was replaced by his, by-

"You killed me."

Shaking, Jolinar huddled in her chair. "I didn't want to! They didn't give me any-"

"Enough!" And she was almost sure she could fill Mercer's hands, colder than the icy waters of the Sea of Ghosts, encircling her neck. To be strangled in a house by the former owner...what a cliché ending.

But Mercer Frey's hands vanished, and she felt two elongated teeth rake across her neck. "My morsel," Harkon's voice tickled her ear like frost. "Let me taste you, let me devour you."

"No!" And with that Jolinar leapt from her chair and darted from the study to the parlor, her heart still racing long after she'd collapsed on the couch next to her brother and waved off his concern.


	30. Averin III

**Summary:** _The infamous Daedric Prince strikes again, with less than stellar results._

 **Featured Character:** _Averin_

 _~XXX.~_

"I'm disinclined to acquiesce to your request," Averin shot over her shoulder.

"Come on, darling," the dark haired Breton said as he swaggered after the Altmer through the tavern. "We're all simple drunkards here, no need to use such big words!"

Averin stopped, causing the annoying Breton to smack his nose into the middle of her back. She quickly turned around and backed away, making sure that he didn't grab for anything off limits (which, by the way his hand was extended, had been his intention) and glowered at him. "You're not fooling anyone, Sanguine."

The drunkenly confident smile on his faced only wavered a moment. "So you know? Brains and beauty!"

She crossed her arms. "My...friend knew you before. I know better than to fall for your games."

"Games?" He questioned, slinging an arm around Averin's hips. She tried to move away, but it appeared the Daedra in disguise had a stronger arm than at first appeared. "A little oath swearing, a bit of eternal loyalty, and you get sex and drugs for the rest of you life!"

"Ew," was the only reply she gave him before the Altmer yanked out of his grip and left Sanguine in the dust.

"Them prissy High Elf skanks, emiright?" A nearby drunk slurred at him.

"You've no idea," Sanguine grumbled.


	31. Alvivecia III

**Summary:** _After centuries of waiting, a proper cup of tea was within sight._

 **Featured Character:** _Alvivecia_

 _~XXXI.~_

Something about the air was different when he stepped outside with his early morning cup of canis root tea. Different, and yet Neloth recalled that feeling once being very prevalent when he'd lived in Sadrith Mora.

"Master Neloth!"

The Mage Lord looked down to see some scrawny Dunmer courier standing at the foot of his mushroom, looking quite out of breath.

"What is it boy? Can't you see I'm busy?" He snapped. How dare some child interupt his contemplation and tea drinking! The nerve!

"It's a letter from the Council!" Gasped the youngster.

"The Council?" He raised an eyebrow. "You'll find that more detailed explanations will get you further in life. Well, go on then!"

The courier, who was obviously very flustered, finally composed himself enough to elaborate. "The Council has summoned you to Blacklight to prepare for the return."

Neloth humphed at the courier. "I've never been to the mainland before in my life! What could be so important that they need me there now?" He demanded, his chest swelling with contempt for the Redoran governed city.

"They've had word from her, sir, and they want members of her House there when she arrives."

"Her? Who are you talking about?" If his niece planned on taking over the government, she was obviously in err and he'd have to go simply to set her straight!

"Her, sir, the Nerevarine."

"The Nerevarine? You mean Alvivecia Sithola?" He questioned.

The courier nodded so vigorously that it was a wonder his head didn't pop off.

Neloth paused then, mind whirring. Before the courier could say anything else, the Mage Lord turned and marched into his tower. He had so much to do! He needed to dictate several letters, summon the twins, get more tea, have someone pack a bag, and find that staff Aryon had made him hold on to for the Nerevarine. This was a good day! Alvivecia Sithola would finally be back to make his tea exactly how he liked it!


	32. Oromis III

**Summary:** _Sometimes it is better to be lost, for, as they say, ignorance is bliss._

 **Featured Character:** _Oromis_

 _~XXXII.~_

"By the Nine!"

"Uh uh uh! Yer Daedric now! It's "by myself" or "by Bal's..."."

Oromis tuned the Madgod out, or at least tuned him out as much as one could the other half of their consciousness. Which was, in fact, very hard as it was very similar to trying to stop oneself from thinking.

But try as he might, he was having a difficult time navigating the murky mists of...wherever in Oblivion's name Sheogorath had taken them this time. It was rare that Oromis got to be in charge of their joint consciousness, but the fact that he was lost was making the normally relieving experience tiring.

After dodging a stone arena filled with screaming, a clearing full of more screams, and a grove which resonated with groaning noises, Oromis finally collapsed on the ground in a fit of exhaustion. He didn't want to admit it to him of all people, but, "We're lost," he moaned in defeat.

"Ha! Yer lost! I know right where I am!" Cackled the mad Daedric Lord.

"Then where in Oblivion are we?" Demanded Oromis, who was quite tired by now.

Suddenly he felt like a very dark presence had surrounded him and Oromis felt his grip over his body being wrenched from his tenuous grasp. He opened his mouth in protest, but found that he couldn't even control that anymore. The only thing he could do was watch as Sheogorath banished the mist immediately around them to reveal a banquet table. "Welcome," he exclaimed, flinging his arms wide, "to the mind of Pelagius the Mad!"

Instantly Oromis wished that he was still lost in the mists, anywhere but there.


	33. Jolinar IX

**Summary:** _She refused to shed anymore tears over this, and yet she couldn't stop crying_

 **Featured Character:** _Jolinar_

 _~XXXIII.~_

When they'd gone, they had left her sitting in the Cistern, at his desk, of all places. For once the inner headquarters of the Thieves Guild were empty, but that did little to quell her eratic heartbeat and smother her vain attempts to not cry.

No, she repeated to herself over and over, she would not shed any tears over him, even if he had stolen from the Guild - from her - and had almost killed her. She wouldn't cry for him, because this had been his choice, his idea, and he was the one responsible for the heartache and anger and so deserved none of her pity and tears.

He was the one who had lied and cheated and killed for himself, because he was selfish and didn't care about her or any of them at all.

Jolinar growled and kicked at the ground. Ignoring the blossoming pain in her foot, she rounded away from the desk and his belongings and fled for the ladder to escape. To get away from him and them and the knowledge that she would be the one to end him, whether she wanted to or not.


	34. Bellatrix III

**Summary:** _A girl's needs must be satisfied, her hunger, her need for sleep, her homicidal tendencies..._

 **Featured Character:** _Bellatrix_

 _~XXXIV.~_

No one had noticed when the first one had gone missing.

She had been living in Anvil only a short time, but had already become indistinguishable from the numerous other Redguard sailors and pirates that littered the port, so when a prostitute disappeared off of the docks one night, nobody had raised an eyebrow or said a word.

She had never liked those women. Seedy and smoky, they had hovered all the time outside the tavern in Stros M'Kai despite her mother's best attempts to run them off. In port towns, they were as common as a docked ship.

It happened, then, that she wasn't phased when a second and third and seventh and twelfth vanished too.

By then, somebody was noticing, even if it was only the paranoid watch captain Lex or Lux or whatever his name was. She didn't kill him, Bellatrix wasn't that stupid, but she did manage to frame the murders on another Redguard, some poor bloke with a sob story worse than hers.

Shortly thereafter she met him, of course. Lucien Lachance was a man who not only supported her need for homicide, but would use her abilities to execute people. Which is how she found herself confessing every single dark deed to the stoic Imperial. The slight smirk on his lips should have bothered her, but it only fueled her confession.

At last, someone understood!


	35. Nixiel II

**Summary:** _By the time a Dunmer is fully grown, most are quite passed the age of wanting to sleep on the ground._

 **Featured Character:** _Nixiel_

 _~XXXV.~_

If someone had asked Nixiel the night before if it was a good idea to camp out in the ashlands when Tel Mithryn was literally a hop, skip, and a jump away, she would have said yes, definitely. Her legs were achy, her feet hurt, her vision was blurry and her chest had that funny feeling of being tired but still going on. Plopping down and staying awake long enough to wrap herself in her cloak and lay her head on her satchel, the white haired Dunmer had quickly drifted off to sleep behind a rock, where she slept all throughout the night.

The next morning, however, was not as simple as that.

While she'd been asleep, an ash storm had swept through (how had she not awoken for that?) and she had been covered in dark grey ash. What was more, as soon as she woke up, she felt one drop and then another splash on her nose before the sky began dumping water more swiftly than the headwaters in the Moersring Mountains. This surprised her so much that all she could do was sit in sludgy ash and be pelted with rain because it never rained on the southern part of the island (any rain on the northern half was snow, but still) due to the clouds of ash in the air.

It was a dirty and wet Nixiel that slushed her way into Tel Mithryn some time later.

"That's a lot of rain - by Azura, what happened to you?" Talvas said upon seeing her. "You look like a drowned nix-hound!"

"Shut up," she growled, flinging her satchel at his head, which he only just managed to catch.

She was never ever camping outside again. Ever.


	36. Phoebus II

**Summary:** _The experiment seemed to progress with...Shining results._

 **Featured Character:** _Phoebus; Jolinar_

 _~XXXVI.~_

He'd been working hard all morning and he was sure that Mistress Marence and the other instructors would be pleased with his spell. He'd figured in every possible variable and outcome, which had taken him all night to do, and was ready to cast it.

His goal was a spell that would take the life force of the Undead and convert it into energy for the living, whether one person or a party of people. It would revolutionize the way mages explored crypts with skeletons and vampires and draugr lurking about!

Phoebus checked his books - just one more time - and cast the spell.

Instantly the entire college went dark.

"APOLLUS!"

"Opes..." Phoebus quickly stuffed his glowing hand into his robe, except then he realized that hadn't been the only thing glowing.

Enthir, Master Tolfdir, and Mistress Aren appeared at the doorway to his room.

"By Azura, what have you done?" The Illusion Mistress's eyes widened.

Enthir prodded the glowing Imperial in the arm. "And why are you...glowing?"

Tolfdir 'hmmd' and shook his head. "He seems to have absorbed all the light in the College, and possibly Winterhold, as well."

Enthir and Mistress Aren gaped at the old Nord, but Phoebus only hung his head.

So much for accounting every variable. He should've had a zombie present for testing, maybe at least it would've been the one burning like a sun.


	37. Leara IV

**Summary:** _For someone almost afraid of attraction, she really shouldn't have been in a bar full of drunk men._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Leara "Elanor Erling"; Fillius_

 _~XXXVII.~_

Leara had never engaged much in romance and attraction, something which her female classmates had once ridiculed her for. ("What do you mean he isn't good looking?" "Why should we care more for his personality than his body?" "Will you get your head out of that stuffy book for five minutes and go have a little fun?") The one time she had, he'd been as uninterested as the sun was in the goings on of the people below.

In consequence, she shouldn't be in a bar where drunk men were milling about and leaving with one or more giggling women on their arms. The rampant debauchery in the Imperial City made her uncomfortable and Leara often wondered why she even stayed there.

"Miss Erling?"

Oh bother...Leara turned in her seat to find one of the acolytes from the Temple, Fillius, drunkenly teetering next to her. "Fillius," she greeted uneasily, not at all sure what to say.

"You, look..." The boy was obviously drunk and Leara was torn between wanting to make sure he got home safe and wanting to get away from him as quickly as possible.

"Fillius, stop, return to the-"

But the young Imperial ignored her and pushed himself toward her face. Leara barely managed to move away before his mouth knocked into hers, making her see stars when his forehead banged into the side of her face. The Altmer shoved him away and gagged at the foul smell of alcohol on his breath that still lingered in her nose even when their faces were seperated.

Getting to her feet, she left a giggling Fillius on the floor as she fled the bar, mortified.


	38. Jolinar X

**Summary:** _When ever she was down, she looked to the sea, turbulent as it was, and found hope._

 **Featured Character:** _Jolinar_

 _~XXXVIII.~_

Jolinar Telvanni stood rigidly on the shoreline facing the north. There by the sea where the winds howled and the white waves beat the stones of the coast, she felt a disconnect from the rest of the world and its chaotic problems.

Alone. Her beloved father had passed on, was murdered, actually, and she hadn't heard from her aunt in such a long time. She had never known a mother's affection or the innocent camaraderie of other children, and what relatives she did have, an estranged brother (a twin! Twins were meant to be united, not merely friends) and a cracked uncle, lived out of the way of constant contact.

Even her best friend was absent. Serana had left on a trip and had yet to return, much to Jolinar's frustration as she didn't even know where the vampire had gone.

"It's a dangerous business, Julie," she told herself as she felt melancholy grip at her heart. "It's a very dangerous business being a great and important person because they are those who are most often alone."

But she wouldn't always be alone, her heart argued, pushing the aching emotions back. One day she'll gain the family she'd always wanted and she wouldn't be alone any more.

"That's a far-flung hope," her overly critical mind scoffed.

"Then I'll be the hoper of impossible hopes," she said aloud to the sea breeze. "The dreamer of impossible dreams! I'll believe in miracles, even if there's but a glimmer of a chance!"

With a hoarse laugh, the Dunmer turned and walked along the beach.


	39. Alvivecia IV

**Summary:** _Under the cover of night, a struggling hero revisits an old habit._

 **Featured Character:** _Alvivecia_

 _~XXXIX.~_

Everything was black, from her gown to her veil to the gloves that covered her shaking hands, even the ornaments of tomb were black, or at least similar enough. But that hardly mattered, for it was as dark as pitch anyway. Only the nighteye charm she'd spun before entering allowed Alvivecia Sithola to take in the inner chamber of the ancestral tomb.

Hero. They called her a heroine and a savior and the reincarnation of their greatest hero! The thought made her skin crawl. Even their ill treatment of her before the whole hortator business had sat better with her than praise and endless words of thanks. She felt almost remorseful for preferring the bad treatment to the good, but she couldn't help but feel more secure with the enemy that she knew.

All such thoughts left her as she set to work. She dared not light any candles, but that was all right; there were rituals that didn't require such ceremony. The whispered words of chants feared and ancient slipped from her lips as Alvivecia waved her arms about like a puppeteer. It wasn't long before the brunette was surrounded by dancing skeletons, reassembled from the blackened mounds of ashes that were all that was left of so many Dark Elves.

With a flick of her fingers, she knew she could set them on a town, razing the buildings and terrorizing the people. With a twist of her wrist she could raise up an army to go before her in this battle against the Sixth House she was meant to wage alone. Oh the things she could do with a thought and hand to guide her marionettes!

With a wave of her hand and a short command, Alvivecia did not raid a village, destroy a building, or fight a war. The hissing noise of wind filled the air as the skeletons crumpled once more to dust and returned to their final resting places.

Under the cover of darkness, the necromancer left the tomb, knowing that once more she'd have to resume the role of hero.


	40. Leara V

**Summary:** _Studying for long periods of time usually gave her a headache. This...Was nothing like that._

 **Featured Character:** _Leara_

 _~XL.~_

It was like an explosion.

Hunched over before the massive bulk of the dragon's carcass, she shook and clawed at her arms. Everything in her head was rearranging itself, reasserting and opening and closing and burning. Oh the burning!

The word...the scratch marks in the tomb...the moment she had laid eyes on them she had felt drawn to their wall where she became caught in a sort of limbo. Something had glimmered like diamond in the ancient stone and snared within her mind, acting as if she'd known this information as she did simple arithmetic, except she couldn't recall anything! It was like a constant battle was being waged over whether or not she knew...knew what?

And then there was the dragon! For the life of her, she couldn't understand how she'd managed to slay it! Had she slain it? She surely must have for the moment the dragon's body touched the ground, a wind had picked up and the corpse burst into flames. But, oh, what followed after!

Her bones felt like iron and her eyes like magnifying glasses. The well of magic in her chest bubbled with delight and everything in her felt as if it had been unburied from the snow after a long and fierce winter to bloom in the most glorious spring imaginable! And it was all because the dragon light, its soul, had flown into her chest and taken over her very being!

As Leara had said, everything about it was an explosion.


	41. Erbane II

**Summary:** _It is never wise to venture into an ancient ruin unaccompanied. Erbane learns this the hard way._

 **Featured Character:** _Erbane_

 _~XLI.~_

Erbane blinked. And then blinked again. The world, which was still a moment ago, had begun spinning and the sudden urge to be ill blossomed in his stomach.

"Steady!" The mage's voice called, sounding far away. "Oh dear..."

Erbane closed his eyes. His shoulder hurt terribly and he needed to have a look at it, but he could move neither his hand nor his head in any direction.

"Miss..." He managed before bile rose in his throat.

"Shush now," his companion's voice came. "The uh, draugr got you pretty good. I've managed to staunch the blood flow, but you're going to need a healing-"

What ever else she said was lost as Erbane turned and heaved his guts out on to the ancient stone floors of the crypt. He settled on back his with a moan, though was pleased to find that his stomach had settled. The pleasure was short lived, however, as the pain of the wound in his shoulder became sharper.

"Better now, Master Hendunar?" She asked, and Erbane became aware of her hand pressed against the place on his arm where a barbed Nordic arrow had been embedded several minutes before.

"Yes, thank you, Miss," and the Altmer went out like a light.


	42. Phoebus III

**Summary:** _Far away from home, it's quite easy to get caught up in daydreams._

 **Featured Character:** _Phoebus_

 _~XLII.~_

It was very bright when he stepped outside that morning, but Phoebus found himself easily adjusted to the light of the sun. Everything was bathed in golden light, almost as if the magic, normally so blue and cold, had acquired all of the warmth of Magnus and had placed it within the very stones of the college! Even the air, which was normally as bitter and icy as any glacier, felt like it had been touched by the sun light.

The young apprentice found himself quite unwilling to go to lessons or even breakfast; instead he stood against a pillar and basked under the sunshine, remembering warm days in the Great Forest with his mother, playing under the oaks and sitting back as she took her pottery to the Chorral market. He could almost smell the apple cider and nut pies that had been the chief feature of the open aired markets not so long ago.

"Apollus."

And quite suddenly, the illusion was shattered and Phoebus found himself once more in the frigid courtyard of the college. The sunlight was as pale and cold as it had always been in the north, and the young Imperial felt quite put out. He looked about for the one who'd broken his daydream to find Mistress Marance standing close by and looking rather exasperated with him.

"Hurry now or you'll be late for class," she chided him before sweeping away toward the Hall of Elements.

Dejected, and very much cold and hungry, Phoebus trailed after her.


	43. Averin IV

**Summary:** _Losing a loved one is hard, especially for a new mother._

 **Featured Character:** _Averin_

 _~XLIII.~_

"He didn't ask for it. Really, I think he much preferred going on in that way than having to stay and rule over all those horrid people. But still, no one wants to go in battle. I didn't want him to."

The only reply to their mother's admission was a gurgle and a wiggle from the two small forms in the crib.

"Though I wonder sometimes, often, what he would have said if he'd known about you. But I didn't even know then, and if we had, I doubt it would have changed anything." Averin sighed dejectedly. "I doubt I would have told him until it was all over anyway."

She gazed down at the twins, both red heads, as they whimpered slightly, obviously very tired. She sighed again.

"He was very brave, your father, and I'm very proud of him, but I do miss him terribly." She scrubbed at her tear streaked face with the linen of her sleeve before running a gentle hand over first one and then another of her daughters' heads. "He would have loved you two so..."

For a long time she'd thought he'd chosen the world over her that day in the temple, but now she knew: when he'd decided to fight, he had done so for her, too, over himself.

Her Martin, selfless and so very brave.


	44. Artanis V

**Summary:** _They say girls just wanna have fun, but they don't always specify what kind._

 **Featured Character:** _Artanis_

 _~XLIV.~_

She reclined on the bed, the perfect picture of the seductive and exotic courtesan from the far south. Her skin glowed with creams and powders done to make her appear without blemish, save for a delicately placed beauty mark on her painted face. Her clothes, or what little there was there to even be called such, were fine and expensive in appearance, from her satin stays to a lace bodice, done just so to accentuate all the right places on her torso.

The Breton who'd hired her, her "lover" was far less appealing in looks, what with a stooped back and balding head (and those being the least of his problems), but he was rich and terribly powerful for a nobleman in northern High Rock and she was being paid for her "service", so she bottled up any qualms she might have had about going to bed with such a man.

The Bosmer gave him a coquettish little smile, making sure to flash her pointed teeth. He should know what he'd paid for, she thought.

Her "client" reached for her and she had little choice but to let him put his arms around her and place slobbery kisses along her collar bone.

The smile on her face was not because she looked beautiful, neither was it for the attention she was receiving. No, it was solely directed at the dagger she slipped from one of her garters and into the soft space at the base of the Breton's skull - just as his hands were venturing passed the trim of her bodice, too.

Relieved to be free of the groping, Artanis Felagund donned her cloak and vanished into the night, leaving a pool of blood and lingerie behind.


	45. Sercion IV

**Summary:** _Beware the stranger and avoid the danger._

 **Featured Character:** _Sercion_

 _~XLV.~_

The Chantry of Akatosh was almost empty early on Loredas, save for the lone boy sitting beneath the choir box, looking over a book of songs.

The child was so engrossed in his reading that he did not notice when a man in priest's robes took a seat beside him, so when the priest cleared his throat, the child started rather badly.

"Peace," the priest said, placing a steadying hand on the lad's shoulder. "Now what brings you into the chantry on such a fine morning?"

"I'm sorry," apologized the child. "I've just been going over these Songs Of The Return."

"Oh? And what are they about?"

The boy looked at him, incredulous. "There's a hero in Skyrim who slays dragons and this one-" he pointed at a specific section, "is about her! Brother Claude said the choir could sing one in honor of her since she's the queen and all." The boy crinkled his nose, obviously wondering how a girl could slay dragons better than a boy.

"Hm, I may actually have another of those books in the chantry library," the priest mused after a moment.

"Really?" asked the boy excitedly.

"Yes," nodded Sercion. "Now if you'll just come with me," the vampire said, directing the child toward a darkened corridor.


	46. Oromis IV

**Summary:** _It is so very hard when one must share their mind. And no one knew this better than Oromis._

 **Featured Character:** _Oromis_

 _~XLVI.~_

He swore up and down to anyone who would listen that he hated the Isles. Unfortunately, none of them took him seriously, though he'd hardly expected them to since they were all loons and fools. He hated them; from the storm clouds of its dreary south to the over bright forests of the north, Oromis Clamal-dust hated the Shivering Isles and everything in them.

Why, then, couldn't he leave?

The overly colorful woods passed by in a blur as he stormed down the path, farther and farther away from Bliss and New Sheoth.

They said his hatred was ridiculous, he was the Madgod now, he was insane. Oromis didn't feel insane, he felt possessed. Never controlling his mind or body and always, always causing mayhem and destroying people's minds. He was a scholar at heart, or at least he had been one once upon a time, and the blatant degradation of the mind stung in the deepest parts of him not touched by that monster.

Oromis continued on through the forests of Mania, cursing the Madgod and feeling sorry for himself the whole time.

It was finally when he reached the complete northernmost point of Mania and as he gazed out at the peculiar sea, he felt the cloud swarm his mind that reminded him that someone else had far more control over him as he did.

Oromis made not a sound as Sheogorath took over his mind once more.


	47. Artanis VI

**Summary:** _You shouldn't anger werewolves, redheads, or women. Unfortunately, Bron-shay has managed to do all three._

 **Featured Character:** _Artanis_

 _~XLVII.~_

It was a terrifying thing to see the Listener furious.

Even cold hearted murderers quaked and hid as the irate werewolf charged through the sanctuary. Somewhere, the Keeper's gleeful cackling could be heard over the animalistic noises made by the Listener.

"Bron-shay!" She howled, storming toward the Argonian, who seemed to be the only one not searching for a hiding place.

The Shadowscale looked up at her rather nonchalantly for a man facing such a woman. "Yes Mistress-"

Whatever else he meant to say was lost as Artanis Felagund grabbed him by the spines on his head and pulled him up by them.

"How dare you!" She growled lowly, forcing her old friend to face her. Even Bron-shay, who normally delighted in teasing the temperamental Wood Elf, realized that she wasn't kidding around this time. He dropped to his knees, being too tall to stand while she held his head captive. "You hurt him!"

Against his better judgement, the Shadowscale smirked, an expression that looked quite sinister on his reptilian face. "I don't know what you're-"

But then Artanis was dragging him, and by the spines of his head, no less! The irate Bosmer pulled him furiously back through the sanctuary, all the way to the black door. She threw it open and prepared to toss him out, but just before she did, she fixed the Argonian with such a venomous look that he was sure she would have killed him right then if not for the Tenets.

"If you ever lay another bloody claw near my stuff again, I will destroy you." With that, she tossed him out into the snow and shut the door with a thud.

So much for the Tenets, thought Bron-shay, rather dazed. Did she just say she owned that witless mutt?


	48. Erbane III

**Summary:** _It takes one person to spread a story. Erbane is quite adept at being that person._

 **Featured Character:** _Erbane_

 _~XLVIII.~_

"Then she spun about and, seeing the beast, quickly dispatched it with her blade before the officer could say By Azura!" The man was saying to a crowd of eager children that had gathered on the porch of the inn. "Wild centaurs aren't things go be trifled with, you know. Just the other day-"

"What was her name?" A curious little girl asked.

Erbane blinked in surprise before realizing she meant the heroine of his tale. "Well," he began; it did not escape his notice that the little girls of the group had all leaned in toward him. "Her name, she's known by many. Rose of the West, Blade of Daggerfall - Rose-blade, too, for the sword she carried - and, Dragon Queen."

The boys, who had been uninterested in hearing about some lady's name (no matter how awe inspiring) all perked up at the mention of dragons.

"Does she have wings?" One asked.

"Does she breath fire and fly?" Asked another.

"Does she live with dragons?" And several other questions followed which Erbane soon found himself answering. Yes, she breathes fire and ice and any manner of things. Yes, she visits and consorts with dragons atop their mountains. No, she cannot herself fly, but she can ride the backs of dragons like a common man does a horse.

Erbane often did this, telling the tales of his adventurous cousin to the children in the towns he visited. Without fail, they (along with a few adults, too) were drawn into the stories of a dragon queen from the frozen north who shook the earth with a whisper.

Plus, it irked Leara and he loved that.


	49. Jolinar XI

**Summary:** _Venturing off the path doesn't always necessarily mean you're lost._

 **Featured Character:** _Jolinar_

 _~XLIX.~_

Jolinar trusted Serana. One would almost say that she trusted the vampire more than she did anyone else she knew, even the Dragonborn. But even loyalty and trust between friends could be strained when one preformed a partial soul trap on the other like it was no big deal.

Serana had asked the question as easily as one might ask "do you want cream in your tea?" or something else equally benign. It was so out of the blue and unceremonious that Jolinar barely had time to respond with a whispered "trap my soul…?" before Serana began her ritual.

With a part of her soul missing, she felt rather dazed and confused as she trailed through the eerie Soul Cairn after Serana and Leara Ormand. It would figure that the one with the soul of a dragon could persevere where a regular mortal fell behind. Jolinar's walk grew slower and slower, bringing her further behind her two companions, before she at last came to a complete halt with only the wailing winds and distant ghosts for company.

The Dunmer blinked sluggishly, feeling drained and spent. Her eyes drifted shut and she felt herself teeter forward…

Only to be caught by the body of an animal. Jolinar opened her eyes to find a specter like horse had come to stand in front of her, lending the support of his neck to her. "You're too kind," she mumbled, not protesting as the horse began to lead her away from the path.

They went along slowly for some time, the horse stopping every now and then so Jolinar could catch her breath, before coming to a halt before a strange looking pavilion. In the center of the ruin was a pedestal, and atop of that, Jolinar realized, was a horse skull that looked very similar to that of her ghostly escort.

The horse butted her gently with his head and Jolinar staggered toward the pedestal and slowly lifted up the smoking blue equine skull. Behind her, the horse neighed, and she was struck instantly with his name. Arvak.


	50. Nixiel III

**Summary:** _She just wanted to get in and out without trouble. Her methods, however, left much to be desired._

 **Featured Character:** _Nixiel_

 _~L.~_

The fire burnt and raged over the wood, charring it to black as it screamed and hissed and smoked. When there was nothing left to consume, the flames blinked out of life, leaving behind a smoldering pile of ashes and burnt wood shards.

Nixiel sifted through them with her foot disinterestedly before, spying her query, she stooped and pulled it out.

"That was sadistic," Talvas' voice drifted toward her. The pale haired Dark Elf paid him no mind as the apprentice came to join her. "You could have easily taken her out without tormenting her."

"Now where's the fun in that?" asked Nixiel as she wrapped the charred wood in strips of linen. "No, I'd much rather get the job over with. It has to be done anyway."

Talvas growled, just refraining from slamming his hand into the cave wall. "You're torturing them before they can even fight back!" he yelled.

In the next moment, Nixiel stood up and turned toward him, her bright red eyes narrowed dangerously. "Does it bother you?" she asked.

"Yes!"

"Then go back to Tel Mithryn and cry into Master Neloth's robes like a good apprentice." With that, the Destruction Master left Talvas alone amongst the charred trees and spriggan ash.


	51. Averin V

**Summary:** _With every new dawn in her new home, she found the kernal.of homesickness become less and less._

 **Featured Character:** _Averin_

 _~LI.~_

The crystal waters of Lake Rumare slid softly across the sandy embankment before receding and repeating the process over again. With every small wave, the hem of Avarenya's silvery dress was doused in lake water. Not that the young Altmer minded. Her attention was fixed on the high spire of White Gold Tower, leaving no room for her to worry over the state of her last dress from home.

From her perch atop the low rising rock, she had a perfect view of everything along the lake and on the central isle, as well as the early morning sky.

The white stone of the imperial palace was pale and ethereal looking against the golden morning, a sight Avarenya hadn't tired of at all during the few short weeks she'd been in this part of Cyrodiil. The heartland, with its great white tower, the ancient city, green hills, crystal lake, and withered ruins echoed faintly of her birthplace of Summerset, but was still so very different and new that it seemed almost alien to her.

As the golden clouds began to break apart for the blushing sky, Avarenya leaned back against the surface of the rock and let her feet dangle in the water. She had never felt so carefree before, not even when she and her brothers would go to the white sand beaches and play in the surf. Some of the lingering guilt that she felt over running away seemed to disappear, then, as she reclined on her rock and listened to the distant early morning bustle of the city.


	52. Leara VI

**Summary:** _He had never wanted this, not even as a child._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Leara_

 _~LII.~_

The Jagged Crown had never appealed to him. In fact, it had scared him a great deal when he was smaller. For most of his childhood it had been a near constant fixture atop his father's head, and later, when his father was old and tired of the ceremony, it had graced his mother's brow.

Warriors. The crown was meant for a Nordic warrior or a dragonslayer, not a Breton whose only reason for gaining the throne had been that he was his mother's son and his father's heir. The Moot shouldn't have chosen him for that.

Martin blinked back the tears that had finally begun to spill. If only his hero father or legend mother were here to bear the burden of High King alongside him, to guide and advise him in his every word and move! Even his sister could not help him as they could have.

In fact, if he had it his way, his mother would be there on the throne to rule indefinitely, awaiting a day that would never be when her son would finally say he was ready for the throne. Whether or not he would have been able to willingly ask for the crown was something Martin knew he would never be able to know. Instead, it was placed upon his head before his father had been cold in the grave.

Squaring his shoulders in determination, Martin Ulfricsson placed the crown of dragon bone and teeth upon his head


	53. Phoebus IV

**Summary:** _All anyone ever really needs is a guiding hand._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Phoebus_

 _~LIII.~_

There was something immensely pleasing about being surrounded by so many mages and the magical aura that pulsated throughout the whole college. It made him feel strong, sure, and capable of nearly anything if he just set his mind and will toward it. If he only concentrated, it seemed like his magic would always take care of the rest.

How it felt and how it was, though, were two different things.

Once more, Phoebus stood in the midst of the practical destruction lesson as Mistress Ormand demonstrated the casting and making of ice based runes and once again he found it difficult to harness the power to produce anything more than lukewarm puddles, something a few of the other apprentices kept sniggering over.

Not that he cared what they did, those pretentious Bretons and elves. Mistress Ormand never grew angry or impatient over his lack of progress (though he knew he'd improved under her, being close to her, because he used to not be able to cast any water or cold based spells) and she always stood beside him, instructing his technique and encouraging him, casting her presence physically and magically around him until he was drowning in power and magic and the ice erupted from his shaking fingers.

Even then, as a dozen different frost runes glittered across the stone floors with their casters beside them, the Altmer walked Phoebus through each careful nuance and part of the casting, the focus, the intent, and then suddenly, just as it had every time she'd taught him before, the rune fell from his hand and affixed itself to the stonework.

"That's brilliant, Phoebus!" she praised, examining the spellwork.

"Thanks to you," he replied, and by the twitch of his teacher's pointed ears, he knew she had heard him.


	54. Jolinar XII

**Summary:** _She was normally so very mild...but this, this she could not stand._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Jolinar_

 _~LIV.~_

"You are too young to remember the Nerevarine. She defeated Dagoth Ur and saved us all from the blight."

More and more her uncle talked about the Nerevarine and more and more she felt inadequate. It was one thing when he had disparaged her father and told her she wasn't ready to be taught by him, but to be held against their legendary hero only to be found near worthless riled Jolinar more than ash in her clothes or a draft in her home.

Alvivecia. Powerful, gifted, beautiful. She would be a goddess if the Temple didn't so suddenly cling to the reclamations like frightened children, Neloth had said. Alvivecia the mystic, the savior, the clever. The not Jolinar.

"She was a member of our own house, you know. At one point she was positioned to become Archmage. The expedition to Akavir changed that – Erandyl! Do stop glowering like that. You're giving me a headache."

Jolinar's facial expression smoothed, but inside she seethed. If he didn't want a headache, he only needed to stop rattling on about the oh so perfect Nerevarine, a lost woman, and focus on her, his own relation.

Even if it took her a thousand years and every aspect of mind and magic she could attain, she was going to be more powerful than Alvivecia Sithola and then they would see who the true goddess was.


	55. Averin VI

**Summary:** _The light fell and the world cried out in the darkness._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Averin_

 _~LV.~_

The coffin was followed by a long train of mourners and spectators, nearly all bearing a lit candle or with a pale magelight glittering above their downcast heads. The hearse itself was borne on the shoulders of six men, the first was a Blade, three were Imperial battlemages, one an Imperial captain, and the sixth a High Elf. Their burden, made of polished oak from the Great Forest and unadorned save for the iron fastenings, was the final bed of a much loved hero and friend.

The coffin was carried into the winding cemetery around Green Emperor Way, passed the numerous dark crypts and headstones of nobles, until they came upon the mausoleum where only five years before they had interred the emperor and his sons. The chancellor had made the surprising proclamation to have the deceased placed there and no one had the heart to really contest this decision. Ahead of the procession, his tall form stopped, and the chancellor went forward and opened the stone doors.

It was a brief effort to take the oaken box and slide it into place within the crypt before the seven removed themselves from the dark hall and returned to stand in front of the weeping crowd.

And then, first one and then another lifted their voice and the emperor's song, song of the empire, once sung often throughout Cyrodiil, rang throughout the Imperial City in a hallow, echoing fashion. Many voices faded into wailing moans, still more were lost to silence, and so the world mourned Averin Peredhil, the champion of Cyrodiil, as darkness fell across the empire.


	56. Sercion V

**Summary:** _There was something in her face... different as it was._

 **Featured** **Character** : _Sercion_

 _~LVI.~_

Sercion made his way to the forefront of the crowd. He hated blood auctions, they were run by those who were obsessed with turning a profit and catered to those who were too caught up in where they got their blood from to see how reckless and dangerous the entire operation was. And yet his blood mother continued to let it happen, or rather, her nightcallers did. He hadn't seen her in a few decades.

The girl presented on the block then was a Nord, golden haired and buxom and stripped down to only a few scanty strips of bloody animal hide. Sercion quirked in eyebrow as a particularly feral looking Dunmer next to him growled. The Bosmer chose not to give it any more meaning than necessary.

The girl looked taunt and horrified, resembling a rabbit cornered by hunting dogs. Sercion tilted his head, watching her shrink under the roving gazes of the mostly male onlookers. His decision was made in the next moment and he began to bid.

Rarely did the Blood Prince lose and tonight was to be counted as yet another one of his dark victories. As he led the young maiden away, bound by an iron chain, he looked behind him to see more than one disgruntled vampire staring darkly after him and his new prize. "Come along, Eran," he said, just loud enough for the nearby assembly to hear him grace his blood cattle with a name not dissimilar to one he could be heard screaming late into the night and morning. Nearly frozen in fear, the young Nord followed reluctantly after her new owner, gut churning as she watched a satisfied grin blossom over his too pale face.


	57. Erbane IV

**Summary:** _They were so close, and yet they were worlds apart and he did not know how to reach out to her._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Erbane_

 _~LVII.~_

When his father had brought her home, Erbane had been aware of his cousin's depression. She'd locked herself in her room almost immediately and only his father's insistence that she study ever made her leave. Not food, not company, only magic.

And still she was miserable, which made his parents miserable, and still Erbane couldn't quite grasp it. Her parents were dead, but he still had his. Her magic was stunted, but his was like a rolling river. She'd been uprooted from her home more than once and severed from nearly everyone she knew, while he had lived in the same house and interacted with the same people all his life.

Yes, he missed his aunt and uncle and he would miss traveling to Daggerfall to visit them, but the pain he felt over their loss was nothing compared to Mareleth's. Her entire persona had taken a one eighty from the happy and inquisitive girl he'd grown up with and he sometimes wondered if that girl was even still inside the hunched figure with limp hair and pale skin that only ever came alive when she cast her spells.

Erbane watched as his cousin leafed through some book or other his mother had given her. Like nearly everything else she did, her movements were stilted and her expression disinterested. In fact, he was quite sure she'd been flipping between the same two pages for the last fifteen minutes. Ignoring the book in his own lap, he watched her finger the page absently without even seeing it.

Mareleth was in pain and he couldn't even empathize.


	58. Artanis VII

**Summary:** _It was unexpected, but despite their misgivings, they were willing to go along for the ride._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Artanis_

 _~LVIII.~_

They sat against the wall, watching as Farkas led the newest Companion through her paces, both noting his excitement over her ability with a claymore.

"I spoke with Athis last night," Aela said, and Villas turned to look at her.

"And what'd he have to say?"

"She's still a child," she sighed. At Vilkas' incredulous look, she whacked him on the arm. "Get your mind out of the sewer! Yes, she's an adult but she's not done maturing yet. No elf is at forty."

Vilkas shifted uncomfortably, and looked away from the slight form of the ginger Wood Elf fighting his brother. "We're raising her, then."

The Huntress nodded. "I never expected to have a child that old before I even reached that age."

"Better tell Farkas then," he told her. "He looks smitten." Vilkas seemed disgruntled by this, though Aela didn't ask. She knew well enough how Vilkas felt about new recruits, even talented ones like Artanis.

"Let him have his fun," she waved off his concern. "I know when it was me out there being trained that that sort of attention made me mature quickly enough."

Vilkas frowned, but didn't reply despite his misgivings.


	59. Bellatrix IV

**Summary:** _It was euphoric, getting away with something like this._

 **Featured Character:** _Bellatrix_

 _~LIX.~_

"Where've you been?"

Bella looked up abruptly to see her mother leaning against the bar.

"To the dock. I had to clear my head," she admitted, coming to a stop before her.

Matron Farstern took her daughter's face gently between her hands and gave her a look of concern. "I want you to be careful, though. Captain Abaas was by earlier; he said there's been a murder. Some Nord off the last ship from Skyrim."

Bella's eyes went appropriately large, but on the inside, she was almost giddy. "Do they know who did it?"

She shook her head. "No, and between him and me he said he wasn't sure they'd ever know, too. Too many ships coming and going and not enough evidence."

Bellatrix stood there listening to her mother go on about the captain's suspicions and woes, an eager expression on her face. They'd found the body, but they were giving up the chase. For a first time murderer, the young Redguard wasn't quite sure if she was disappointed or relieved, but she definitely wanted to try her hand at the game of life again. Unfortunately, if she did, she knew she would have to leave Stros M'Kai or else be found out, and she wasn't ready to give up her best secret yet.


	60. Averin VII

**Summary:** _A mother tells her child a story, but as often is, the truth must be amended._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Averin_

 _~LX.~_

When she'd sat down next to them as they curled together on their mat for a nap, she'd only meant to tell one story, the one where their father had freaked out and nearly froze over Lake Rumare because a silly mudcrab had snuck up on him, and then everything had escalated from there. Avrose was the first to fall asleep, the baby of the two, but Marelen, petit and blue eyed (far more Imperial than her sister), situated her tiny form on her mother's lap and demanded another.

"What sort would you like to hear, Mary?" she asked the wide eyed child.

"Tell me bout the crown," she demanded.

Averin bit her lip, suppressing a smile. She knew what she wanted. "I was sitting down across from your father as he worked when suddenly your Uncle Ori barged in, arms waving, with a flower crown on his head, and your papa said—"

"An' Da said, if you're gonna wear a crown, maybe you should get anoffer one, cos that one makes you look like a girl!" Marelen giggled.

Averin caressed her daughter's dark red hair proudly. "And I said Oromis looked like a princess," she added.

"Mama, why did Unca Ori look like a princess?"

Averin pursed her lips in thought. As she recalled, it had had to do with the stuff he was doing with that Daedric Prince. But she wasn't going to tell either of the girls, especially curious Mary, anything about their uncle's affairs with Daedra, especially after what the Lords of Oblivion had done to her. She shrugged. "I think he was trying to scare us," she tried.

"That's not scary," Marelen screwed up her face, perplexed.

Her mother smoothed it out with a soft laugh. "No, it's not!" But the alternative, true answer was, and she'd die before she let her children be exposed to Daedra.


	61. Alvivecia V

**Summary:** _The climb is difficult, but the view from the top is spectacular._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Alvivecia_

 _~LVI.~_

The hall was crowded, the bedrooms were all full. There were too many people everywhere and she hated it! The only quiet place was the shed, and it was creepy in there!

Still, Alvi was determined, which was what brought her out of the orphanage and to the storage shed with the rusty garden tools and other, musty things. All to practice magic.

To be fair…she hadn't actually cast anything yet. But she knew she would! She could fill it in her chest like an overcooked piece of apple: simmering and almost impossible to touch. She figured the best way to learn to use it was to get familiar with it over time; after all, you could touch a hot apple piece if you gave it long enough to cool done a bit.

Alvi lifted her hand and tried to will magic, raw, concentrated, in some form, to materialize in her palm. Just as with every attempt before, she felt the warmth, but nothing else happened. Despite knowing that it was there and it only took practice, with every failed attempt to cast the young Dunmer became more and more discouraged. It was just like with her parents and every couple who came to the orphanage looking to adopt: they didn't want her and her magic didn't want her, either.

A wave of anger crashed against her and Alvi was tempted to scream her frustration and do something that would probably get her in trouble with the matron, but almost instantly, the will left her. She couldn't give into the anger and learn to cast that way! Every story she'd ever heard or read where someone had chosen to use anger and hatred to do magic had ended badly for that person, and Alvi sure as Mara didn't want to die because she was a bad wizard.

Defeated, she slumped against the wall and let the first few tears slip out. No one wanted her and she was a prude. With a pout, she held out her hand again and this time, begged her magic to solidify, emerge, do something. Anything.

A hot wave coiled down her arm, through her fingers, and spiraled out into the air in half a dozen, three dozen, hundreds of little pinpricks of light, reminiscent of the heavens she could see late at night from the dormitory window. Alvi wiggled her fingers and watched as the tiny magic made stars danced and swirled through the air. Her morose thoughts forgotten, the elfling giggled as she sent her stars flying through the air.

"Alvi! Alvivecia Sithola! Get inside this instant!"

Alvi let the stars go out, but even after they disappeared, the new connection that tied her to her magic. With a laugh, the little Dunmer scrambled to her feet and back to the orphanage.


	62. Nixiel IV

**Summary:** _No matter how proud she was, the whispers still clawed at her brain._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Nixiel_

 _~LXII.~_

It was the same every time she went into town. The looks, the confusion, the "what the daedroth is wrong with you?" sorts of things she got every time she passed the Bulwark.

"Good morning, Miss Veres," Captain Veleth greeted her as she came down the path.

"Captain," she nodded in reply. She passed by the steps to the temple and the door to the tavern and entered the market place. She needed a bolt of fabric, something not usually found in Tel Mithryn, which made the visit to Raven Rock an uncomfortable necessity. She hesitated next to the well, watching the people mull about, discussing prices, the weather, the latest shipments from Skyrim, and...

Her.

Nixiel swallowed and forced her legs to move her toward where Fethis Alor sat reclining against an urn. "Excuse me?"

The farmer started and looked up, scowling when he realized who had disturbed him. "Come to laugh at our misfortune?" he sneered.

She didn't speak, merely handing him her order, which included imperial cotton. For a Dunmeri settlement, kwama silk was surprisingly hard to come by. Fethis scowled as he read it, but went about gathering the requested items.

Nixiel watched him, though she couldn't help catching the words of the town alchemist to her husband: "Why is she so drawn into herself?" She didn't catch Garyn's reply, but she heard Milore scoff. "Yeah, she's definitely enthralled."

"By money or magic?" Dreyla Alor bit out. She always cleared out whenever Nixiel came to do business with her father. It's how it was.

Fethis returned, the fabric and a few other items tucked under his arm. "50 drakes."

She knew it was more than her purchases were worth, but Nixiel handed over her coin pouch anyway. It wouldn't do for her to cause a commotion.

"You know she's joking, right?" she heard Glover Mallory say as she took her stuff and turned to leave. "She's obviously just crazy."

She wasn't.

Nixiel quickly turned and left.


	63. Sercion VI

**Summary:** _So close...and yet he must not be seen._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Sercion_

 _~LXIII.~_

He'd never been to the old capital. Once there, it was no wonder to him why they'd gotten a new one, with this place being a huddle of dilapidated and rundown shacks. The only thing of any worth was the great stone fortress just north of the town passed the twisted bridge, ancient and full of magic.

A smile curved around his pointed teeth, unseen as he was in the midst of the bony, frostbitten citizens hurrying home so late in the evening.

Cian had been reserved when he'd told the Blood Prince where the bird had flown, and Sercion had been almost dismissive of his cautious attitude. Still, there was a certain level of danger to be found when venturing too close to-

There.

Bound up in a traditional eastern garb obviously designed for protection against the ashstorms of her native province, the shadow bird crept through the long shadows on the opposite side of the road, as if she of all people didn't have the right to walk the streets of the once great Winterhold. Sercion scoffed at the image. If anything, it showed just how twisted she was, the thief in the guise of a scholar.

Snow rustled, the wind whistled, a door creaked, and amongst a hundred small noises in the background, Sercion saw the crimson eyes of his prey turn in his direction and lock on to him, as if seeing through his invisibility spell.

Thunder rolled in the distance, and Sercion took that brief distraction as an escape. When the Dunmer turned back from examining the cloud darkened sky, he was gone.


	64. Artanis VIII

**Summary:** _A kind gesture goes a long way, even amung assassins._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Artanis_

 _~LXIV.~_

"Is the Listener…okay?"

Said Listener looked rather bedraggled and sleep deprived, which concerned the Keeper greatly. As the Keeper of the Night Mother and her care, he also cared for his mother's Listener, even if Artemis tended to act like a thistle all the time.

"I've never slept this far underground," she admitted. The basement in Jorrvaskr hadn't run this deep into the earth. It was suffocating.

Cicero blinked as realization hit him. Oh of course! The Listener was a moon child before she'd ever come to the family, and being so separate from the night sky had to have a bad effect on her, he figured.

Before Artemis could speak, Cicero darted off toward her bedroom. She exchanged a cautious look with Nazir and Babette before turning and following after the jester.

When she entered her room, she found Cicero standing on her bed and putting crudely cut disks of paper on the antlers of the elk skull above her headboard. She watched him, puzzled, as he dusted his hands and scrambled off of the mound of furs. He bounced to a stop in front of her, smiling innocently.

"Um, Cicero…?" she prompted, gesturing vaguely at the elk head.

"Cicero figured that the Listener would sleep better under the moons," he explained.

"Ah," Artemis nodded. She knew it wouldn't help her insomnia, but the Keeper's kindness touched her, and she pecked a startled Cicero on the cheek in thanks.


	65. Averin VIII

**Summary:** _No matter how worldy you are, there's always someone with more experience than you._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Averin_

 _~LXV.~_

"So," Averin said, trying to prompt Martin to look up from the Mysterium Xarxes. (He didn't.) "Sanguine, eh?"

"Of the fifteen Princes, why'd you happen to go to him?" Martin asked, tracing a finger along the dark symbols on the page.

"I could ask you the same thing," Averin retorted. She sighed. "It was near my brother's house."

Martin glanced up at her briefly. "Your dear brother Sheogorath lives next door to Sanguine. I have to say I'm not surprised. Sex and insanity."

Averin scowled. "Sanguine told me what you did."

Finally, Martin looked up at her properly. "Really?" he raised an eyebrow, leaning toward her across the table.

The Altmer shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. "He told me about all the stuff you used to get up to. About one particular Breton you happened to favor, actually. He said that she was–"

"Yes," the priest cut her off.

"And you," Averin ventured again, but he stopped her again.

"Taking innocence isn't a light matter, Avarenya," he sighed. "Even that of such a carnal nature."

"Was it nice?" she asked almost bashfully.

Martin stared at her. "Have you never…?"

"No."

He smirked and sat back. "I see."


	66. Nixiel V

**Summary** : _A child_ _dreams of a life far beyond anything her parents wanted for her, and her mother worries._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Nixiel_

 _~LXVI.~_

Resele Veres stepped into her daughter's room, and stopped.

"Nixie?" she stuttered out.

The little girl turned to look at her mother, blue white flames dancing around her fingers. "Hi Mama!"

Resele gaped at the magic swirling around her daughter's outstretched hands as she took a seat on the rug next to her. "What are you doing?" she ventured to ask.

"Playing."

"And are you having fun?" she winced as a spark shivered down one of Nixiel's thin braids before shooting off at the end to join countless other potmarks in the rug.

"Yeah. Mama? Do you think I could go be a mage with the Telvanni? I really wanna learn more magic!" The elfling looked up at her mother, only to see her gazing back with a look of disbelief. "Mama?"

"Ask your father later, all right?" Resele managed to get out as a sinking feeling descended on her heart.

"Okay!" With that, Nixiel went back to playing with the ball of fire and energy in her hands, while her mother fought with herself over how to tell her husband, a member of the Redoran Council, that his daughter dreamed of being a Telvanni wizard.


	67. Oromis V

**Summary:** _He_ _didn't usually agree with himself, but when he does, it's worth it (to no one but Sanguine)._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Oromis_

 _~LXVII.~_

For once, in over two hundred years, Oromis and Sheogorath had arrived at the rare point of perfect unison. Sitting across from Sanguine amongst a nest of pillows, a tumbler of greenmoot in hand, the young Daedroth found himself rambling once more about a mutually favorite subject between him and himself.

"She just marched in – even without magic, she was crafty. Beautiful and crafty," the Madgod sighed into his greenmoot. How many glasses was this now?

"You're getting – hic! – po…po…tentacle," Sanguine blurted before belching.

"Poetical," corrected Oromis. Then, "She was like a perfect blue corn flower."

"A wha?" Sanguine snorted into his tumbler of colorful alcohol. "Look, mate, bed the girl or shut up, but by Me, shut up."

Sheogorath ignored him, lost as he was in the haze of greenmoot and the memory of her sunny golden hair tussled and frizzing in the damp mists of Pelagius' mind, and her ashy skin, blue like a frozen snowberry, except she hated snowberries, so maybe more like a bunch of ash mixed with blue dust to make her skin. That was probably it…and her eyes! Red, deep and bloody and maddening and he wanted to pluck them out and make them into dazzling little earrings for her perky little leaf ears, but the mortal in him figured that'd be received as well as switching her hair with actual strands of sunlight. He couldn't forget her lips, pert and pink and perfectly edible! He'd nearly grabbed them off her face to gobble up like a strawberry torte, but she had stood too far away for him to reach.

She always stood too far away. Away from the Isles, from him, on Nirn, in her college as cold as a stark naked dremora.

"You're – hic! – thinking about naked dremora," purred Sanguine.

For once, Sheogorath and Oromis rolled their eyes in unison.


	68. Leara VII

**Summary:** _There were stormclouds in the southern sky._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Leara_

 _~LXVIII.~_

Leara was dusting the top shelves when the bell over the door jingled maniacally and a young boy rushed into The First Edition.

"Miss Erling!" he cried upon seeing the Altmer on the latter; he was quite obviously in distress. "Miss Erling! Mister Hebenus!"

Leara scrambled down the ladder and rushed to the boy as Lux Hebenus, the proprietor, emerged from the back room. "What's wrong, Gisbain?" the redhead asked the distraught child. She got on her knees before him and took his hands in hers in an attempt to calm him.

"The…the Emperor…" Gisbain choked.

"What about him?" prompted Hebenus, not unkindly.

Gisbain looked frantically between the two adults. "He, there was a cart, and, and…" he sobbed.

"Shh," whispered Leara soothingly. She pulled the small Breton to her side, where he barely came to her chin despite her being on her knees. "Start from the beginning: what did you see?"

Gisbain pressed his forehead into the Altmer's shoulder. "There was a cart a High Elf man that drove it called the Emperor out and then he took the cover off and inside…heads…without bodies. He said, he said it was every Blades agent from Summerset. They rolled across Green Emperor Way. There were so many…" he sobbed again, and Leara embraced the child; over his head, she and Henebus exchanged dark looks.

There was war on the horizon.


	69. Erbane V

**Summary:** _It is strange, isn't it, how soon the tide might turn and how different the change might be._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Erbane_

 _~LXIX.~_

He had gone out into the fields beyond the city to spend time in nature's solitude to work on his manuscript. As he walked, he pictured his scenes in vivid color and great detail, and at length he came to a stop under a great oak tree where he took out his materials and began to put his imaginings into an ink form.

It was not until he felt the air pop and quiver around him that he looked up from his writing. And his heart stopped, for in the distance, ships with black flags faced Wayrest, methodically letting loose their cannons on the fortified walls. He could here the crash and book of ancient stone crumbling under the onslaught of the Redguard weapon. Cannons were not mass produced, but when they were, many of them inevitably found their way into the hands of pirates and corsairs, and here those very wretches, with that very weapon, were attacking Wayrest!

His materials forgotten on the roots of the oak tree, Erbane scrambled to his feet and darted into the wavering wheat grass of the field, through the scattered patches of flowers and briars, never minding the tears and stains such a dash sent spattering across his clothes and skin. And yet the harder and faster he ran, he never seemed to get closer to the besieged city.

His heart thundered in his chest and the Altmer instantly feared that he would be too late. Too late for his mother, his wife, his child…

Erbane screamed out in anguish as a great fire sprung up on the waterfront, visible even as far away as he was. But no one was there to hear him, empty as the fields around him were.


	70. Phoebus V

**Summary:** _Practical testing is advisable before one uses an unknown element._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Phoebus_

 _~LXX.~_

By Akatosh, if he hadn't spent the last decade in Winterhold, Phoebus swore Windhelm would've been the coldest place on Nirn. He shivered as he worked around the court wizard's chamber, placing bottles and tombs around the room. All in all, it wasn't terribly bad as far as accommodations went. The former court wizard, Wuunferth, had suffered some form of setback, prompting the High King to insist on an early retirement. Which had led to the High Queen summoning him to fulfill the position.

His former Destruction teacher was lovely, but apparently she found the cold less cumbersome than him.

Phoebus robbed his hands together and blew into the space between them. The chill seemed to creep into his bones! In Winterhold, millennia of magic seemed to keep the fortress itself warm, but there was no such effect here. Shivering, the Imperial mage turned to the windows, encrusted with perpetual frost, and frowned.

Maybe he could apply some sort of Alteration Destruction hybrid spell…

Bracing himself, he put his hand against the frozen panes and allowed his palm to heat up rapidly.

And drew it back almost at once as the heat caused the cold window to crack and shatter, leaving glass dust on his hands and robes, and allowing a harsh winter wind to cut through the new opening.

Phoebus cursed. This would require a new approach.


	71. Sercion VII

**Summary:** _The world burned and all he knew was fire and the screams of the never dying._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Sercion_

 _~LXXI.~_

All around him there were screams. Long, wretched screams that came from the broken and the hopeless and the dying. Yet he was apart from that torment, in a hell far worse than theirs.

The blood in his veins was not his…nor was it taken from any mortal. It seared every part of him as it wound its course through his body, filling every nook and coating everything inside him with an acid burning. At first he had thought that it wasn't even blood, but then he had heard the laughter, deep, terrible, and all consuming like the glaring sun, and he knew what it was.

Daedric blood was like a scalding poison.

Yet he did not scream. That was what the monster wanted, but he would not, could not grant him the satisfaction. His blood mother had told him the horrors of Molag Bal, and he would not show that this bothered him, so he clinched his teeth, balled his fists, and remained as silent as darkness.

But with every passing moment and with every beat of his heart, the poisonous blood flowed further and harder and his resolve weakened. He ground his teeth together, but he doubted that that would do much to stifle his screams if he succumbed.

When he succumbed.

And still all around him, above the sounds of torture coming from the other prisoners, the laughter, dark and twisted, rang through the air like chantry bells on Sundas. In the haze of noise and pain, Sercion did not scream, but he wept.


	72. Artanis IX

**Summary:** _Being undead just made everything so unfair._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Artanis_

 _~LXXII.~_

When he appeared, he found her spread-eagled atop the mass of furs that made up her bed. Her face was twisted in a strange way; her mouth was curled in a crimson grin, but her eyes were heady and he couldn't decide if she was half asleep or if it was something else. She was clad in a short, loose robe of white tundra cotton loosely tied at the waist. It seemed to be the only thing she wore.

"You called for me, Listener."

Artemis peered at him out of the corner of her eyes, both dark beneath the ginger lashes, and if Lucien Lachance had possessed a true body, if he were alive, the look on her face would have done things to him that he thought, in the darkest depths of his being, would not have been so disagreeable. As it was, he was a specter, and Artemis' sultry looks and languid state of near undress upon her bed did nothing to him.

He felt as cold as the Void itself inside, and at times like this, he very much resented that.

"I was wondering," the Bosmer began at length when it became apparent that the former Speaker would not actually speak beyond his typical greeting. "Could lemon wedges placed beneath the skin be useful form of torture? The juice stings so terribly when applied to a cut. Imagine what it would do when placed entirely within a sensitive wound!"

If Lucien had been mortal, he would have gaped at this idea presented to him by his Listener. Still, even as he was, he had to wonder at her mind. If she wasn't already bound to the Dread Father, he suspected Hircine would have instead turned her over to the Mad God long ago.

"Lucien?" came her voice, shaking the specter from his thoughts.

"You might attempt it," he said genteelly, and then he vanished with a breath of wind from the chamber, to the safety of the Void and away from the madly tempting form of his Listener.


	73. Bellatrix V

**Summary:** _It seemed so far, amd at times she doubted she could even make it._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Bellatrix_

 _~LXXIII.~_

"That yer ticket?"

"Yes," Bellatrix affirmed. In her hand she held a stiff piece of parchment stamped with the proofs of her purchase upon it. Gone were the days of sneaking and stowing away on ships. She was an old woman now and too tired to fool around with the games of youngsters.

The crooked toothed youth next to her eyed the first class ticket almost enviously, but remained rather drawn back. Bella did not blame him; it was not often for anyone to meet an elderly Redguard woman who still dyed her hair and looked as if she could kill you with a glint of her teeth. She ran her tongue over the mithril canines that had long ago replaced her real teeth. If the sun shone brightly enough, she could at least blind someone.

"Where're you headin'?" asked the boy.

"Stros M'Kai."

"That far?"

Bella peaked back at the boy, who was between the stages of dirty street urchin and dirty homeless man. "A ways," she admitted at length. It did not matter how well or hail she still looked, she was old, her bones hurt — Peryite's pits, her very soul hurt! A part of her was concerned that she wouldn't even be able to make the voyage home, that she'd not survive long enough to see the isle of her youth one last time before she died. But she knew she would. She could make this last journey. She glanced back at the boy with a wry smile. "But home, dearie, is never too far to be a bother


	74. Erbane VI

**Summary:** _A young boy manages to surprise both himself and his father._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Erbane_

 _~LXXIV.~_

"Erbane! Concentrate!"

The elfling's ears drooped, ever so slightly, under the onslaught of his father's admonishment. Vorondon sighed at the sight and ran a weary hand over his face. For weeks — months, even, he had been attempting to teach his young son something of magic. He had potential, he was sure, for at least Restoration, but all the boy seemed to do was create gold dust that did nothing but stick to the carpet before dissolving back into pure magicka.

"Try again," he said, his voice softer than before. If he could at least get the boy to create a healing touch, something that in theory was so simple…

Erbane bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut, raising his hands again as he did so. Vorondon stood back, silently willing something to happen. Anything. He waited.

A minute passed, and then another. Five minutes soon stretched into an eternity and with each passing moment, the elfling's face gradually screwed itself into a painful red expression that either spoke of frustration or sadness. Vorondon shook his head in silent dismay and reached for his son's shoulder. There were cases of internal injury sustained when one's magicka would channel inwards rather than out, and the tenser Erbane became, the more his father feared that that might happen.

Yet, scarcely had Vorondon's hand brushed his son's shoulder, than the arm attached to it came flying upward. With a cry, the adult Altmer fell back, narrowly avoiding getting walloped in the nose, as Erbane's spindly little arms flew this way and that, leaving trails of golden sparks and lightning in their wake.

His father gaped.

With a great sigh, Erbane plopped down on the ground, the lights of his spellcasting dissipating into nothing as he looked up at his father searchingly.

Vorondon cleared his throat. Several times, in fact. Then, "Very good, Bane. I believe we will stop for supper and resume work tomorrow."

The elfling's ears perked up, and his smile was so full of happiness, that his father could not help but return it.


	75. Alvivecia VI

**Summary:** _She would not be made a fool of._

 **Featured** **Character:** _Alvivecia_

 _~LXXV.~_

Alvivecia made her descent from the gates of Sadrith Mora. On the outside, Sithola Nerevar (as some few Ashlanders had taken to calling her), she was the picture of poised grace. On the inside, she was fuming.

The audacity of it! Archmagister Alvivecia! More like Alvivecia the hapless fool! They were barking! If Aryon still wanted the position, he could take the proposition and have it, and Galos could tell him so! She would not take the head of the Council in such a manner!

She huffed. Gothren could go screw a cliffracer for all she cared! She wouldn't take it anymore! Not from him, or from Neloth, or from any of the others!

"Mistress Alvivecia!"

The Nerevarine did not stop, though she did slow her pace considerably at the sound of her Mouth's rapid approach.

"What, Theman?" she replied shortly once she figured he was reasonably closer.

Eddie appeared at her side, looking as if he'd run off in search of her once she had vanished from out of the council chambers. "Ryon didn't mean it that way, I'm sure, Mistress—" he started, but Alvivecia cut him off.

"I understand perfectly, Theman. Gothren, as you know very well, despises me, and I do not blame him." At her Mouth's aghast expression, the Magister went on: "He issues this proposition, not because he seeks to step down and have the title and deeds of Archmagister handed off, but because he wishes to get rid of me! He wishes to split the Council. I will not be made Archmagister just to then be spun into some sort of plot where Gothren will not only remove me from the seat, but from the House entirely!" Alvivecia then grew silent, but on the inside, her tirade continued on as she dug deeper and deeper into weeding out why Gothren would have Mallam Ryon present his proposition to the Council. There was no way in Oblivion he'd just step down and hand over the reigns to her. Anyone with a brain could see that.

He hated her, and frankly, the feeling was mutual.

"What are you going to do?" Eddie asked after a tense stretch of silence in which Alvivecia led him to the shore facing east toward the mainland, though it could not be seen for the twilight.

Alvivecia was tempted to say that she would just kill Gothren, take over the Council that way, and have his corpse become her undead servant, but she thought better of it, and instead answered, "I'll step down. No—" she amended quickly, "I am stepping down now. Tell them for me."

As Eddie spluttered and waved his arms frantically about at her side, Alvivecia continued to stare off into the eastern sky where Magnus on his trail into the west had left a dusky expanse of stars. On the morrow she would head eastward, she decided. Away. Away from politics and heroism and intrigue and responsibility — she'd fly into the sun.


End file.
